


Melting Point

by TessAlyn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blacksmith Benny Lafitte, Blow Jobs, Bottom Dean Winchester, Doctor Castiel (Supernatural), Dom/sub Undertones, Fluff and Smut, Gentle Dom Castiel (Supernatural), Getting Together, Happy Ending, Humor, Kilts, Knight Dean Winchester, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, Mutual Pining, Polyamory, Renaissance Faires, Sexual Fantasy, Sexy Man Calves, Threesome - M/M/M, Top Benny Lafitte, Yes you read that right, mild jealousy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:35:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28949754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TessAlyn/pseuds/TessAlyn
Summary: Long-time friends Benny and Castiel are about to start their fifth year working at the Lebanon Renaissance Festival. Every year it gets harder to ignore their simmering desire for one another, but this year might prove the hardest of all, because Cas’ high school crush Dean Winchester is back in town, and he’s literally a knight in shining armor. Set against a backdrop of jousts, swordplay, kilts, and sweltering heat, the summer promises to be full of surprises for everyone.
Relationships: Castiel/Benny Lafitte/Dean Winchester
Comments: 16
Kudos: 19
Collections: Destiny Big Bang





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! Welcome to my first ever Supernatural bang! I’ve had a blast writing Cas, Benny, and Dean, and I am so excited to share this story with you at last!
> 
> Ever since I saw the episode LARP and the Real Girl, I have wanted to write Dean as a jousting knight, and I finally made it happen! I made Benny a blacksmith, because… that man just needed to be a blacksmith. He probably would have been one if he’d lived during that era and wasn’t already busy being a vampirate. (Maybe he could have been a vampsmith? Is that a thing? It is now.) And Cas is a doctor, because… sexy doctor. That is all.
> 
> There is, of course, no real-life Lebanon Renaissance Festival, but the descriptions are loosely based on the Bristol Renaissance Faire in Wisconsin that I attended many times growing up. I still love going there and watching the shows, eating turkey legs, and cheering on the knights. This was such a fun universe to create and I hope you enjoy it as much as I do!
> 
> A massive thank you to my artist, [MelancholySeraph](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelancholySeraph/pseuds/MelancholySeraph), who made not three, but FOUR pieces of art for this fic! They are beautiful and capture the feeling of this universe so well. I had such a great time working with her (and screaming about Benny’s kilt and sexy man calves.) She is the absolute best and I hope to work with her again! You can view all her art for this fic [here.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28939377)
> 
> An equally massive thank you to my beta, [lawful_feral_merit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lawful_feral_merit/pseuds/lawful_feral_merit), who has worked at a renaissance festival for several years and was a FANTASTIC source of information. They made this fic so much stronger and more authentic with their knowledge of how these fairs are run and the volunteers and performers who make it happen. They also provided many humorous anecdotes that served as inspiration for a few funny scenes which I had SO MUCH FUN writing.
> 
> Last but not least, a huge thank-you to the Destiny Big Bang mods for answering all our questions, calming us down when we were panicking, and for organizing this amazing bang. The world needs more Destiny and y’all made it happen :)
> 
> Onwards!

Morning breaks grey and misty over the Kansas plain, summer sun quickly burning away the fog. In his darkened bedroom, Castiel squints at his alarm clock. 5:05 AM. He groans and rolls over, burying his head under a pillow. Damn it, Benny. They could have been on the road by seven and it would be fine, but no, Mr. Early Bird has to beat the morning traffic.

He groans again and pushes the covers aside. Heaves himself up, joints cracking as he stretches. Throws on his robe. Stumbles into the kitchen. Stubs his toe on the table leg. Curses colorfully. Starts the coffee maker. Collapses into a kitchen chair and glares out the window. He can’t see Benny’s house from here, but he can hear distant rattling and thumping. Must already be loading up the truck, the perky fucker.

Once he drains his first cup, he’s in a marginally better mood. And not a moment too soon, because that’s Benny knocking on the door, no doubt with a lazy smirk on his face that says he knows exactly how much Castiel hates him right now.

He drags himself over to the door and unlocks it. As predicted, Benny is on his front porch, already fully dressed in his trademark suspenders and peaked cap. 

“Mornin’, Hot Wings,” he drawls, grinning.

“It’s barely even light yet,” Castiel grumbles. “Why do you do this to me?”

“As I said last night, brother, you are more than welcome to take your piece of shit Connie and drive up later,” Benny reminds him. “But somethin’ tells me you don’t want to do that.”

Castiel scowls. Benny’s truck handles the bumpy dirt roads that lead to the renaissance festival a lot better than his Lincoln, but that doesn’t mean he has to admit it. 

“Coffee?” he says, sidestepping the comment.

“Naw, I’m good.” Benny is already walking back down the porch steps. “Packed plenty of food, so all you gotta do is get your grumpy self dressed and we’ll be on our way.”

“I need more coffee first.”

Benny laughs. “Damn right you do. I’ll be in the truck, cher.”

* * *

It takes three hours to drive to Lebanon. Castiel spends the first thirty minutes in silence, sipping coffee from his stainless steel travel mug and watching the Flint Hills dip and curve outside his window. Benny is likewise quiet, leaning back in the driver’s seat, two fingers on the steering wheel, left arm hanging out the window.

By six o’clock, Castiel finally feels human again. He sets his mug in the cupholder and tilts his neck until he hears a satisfying pop. “I’m going to need a pit stop in about half an hour,” he informs Benny.

The big man merely nods, eyes focused on the road. “Was thinking I’d stop in McPherson for gas.”

“Sounds good.” Silence falls again. Castiel’s stomach churns uncomfortably. He should have eaten something before drinking twenty-four ounces of caffeinated acid.

“There’s granola bars in the glove compartment if you want ’em,” Benny says, as if reading his mind.

“Wonderful.” Castiel opens the compartment and starts rummaging around. Maintenance manual, paper napkins, dental floss, tic-tacs, tire gauge, map of Kansas, green plastic Easter egg filled with what sounds like loose change… 

“You are such a packrat,” he complains. “How do you find anything in here?”

“I got a system,” Benny replies, unperturbed.

Castiel rolls his eyes and keeps sifting through the mess. Eventually he unearths a couple of squashed Sunbelts, along with a tube of lotion. He takes that out too; after yesterday’s shift at the clinic, his skin feels dry and papery from all the handwashing.

He flips open the tube cap without looking at it, squeezes a dollop into his palm, and promptly yelps in surprise. The gel is clear and cold, not warm and opaque like he was expecting. Frowning, he turns the tube over and lets out a garbled noise when he sees the label.

“Something wrong?” Benny glances over.

“This isn’t hand lotion,” Castiel croaks.

“Uh.” Benny coughs. “No, brother. That’s… uh…”

“Why do you have lube in here, Benny?”

Silence. Castiel risks a glance at him, but the big man’s face is impassive.

“Are you seeing someone?” he asks. He tries to make it sound teasing rather than accusatory, but he’s not sure if he succeeds. “Or are you just planning to have a few clandestine jerkoff sessions in your truck?”

Benny stares straight ahead, jaw tight. “When we stop in McPherson you can wash your hands,” he says in a flat, expressionless tone. “Just ten minutes away now.”

Okay, there’s definitely something weird going on. Benny is not the type to lie or evade direct questions, which must mean he _really_ doesn’t want to talk about this. Maybe he actually _is_ seeing someone. But why would he keep that a secret? Castiel has no problem with Benny dating or fucking around. None at all. Obviously it would be _nice_ if they could date. Benny knows him better than anyone else and accepts Castiel exactly as he is, which is more than can be said of most people. The man practically oozes Southern charm with that deep, sexy drawl and lazy grin, and he’s softer than a freaking teddy bear. But Benny’s had five whole years to make a move, and he never has. It’s pretty damn clear where he stands on the matter.

“Okay,” Castiel says at last, reaching for one of the paper napkins to wipe off his hand. “If you don’t want to tell me, then don’t. But if you change your mind, I’ll be happy to listen.”

Benny merely nods, eyes still fixed on the road.

The rest of the drive is really fucking awkward.

* * *

By the time they reach Lebanon, Benny’s nerves are strung tight as a bow. He’s not usually one to stew over things, but he can’t stop replaying the lube incident over and over in his head. Now Cas knows he’s keeping something from him. Just perfect.

“Need anything in town?” he asks as they approach Main Street.

“No,” Cas answers, a bit shortly. “You?”

“Naw.” Benny feels a headache starting. This is not how he imagined today going. Normally he and Cas spend the drive joking around, reminiscing about previous summers or making a game plan for when they arrive. Cas is a planner; he likes to know what’s going to happen and when, and how to deal with any unexpected obstacles. It’s part of what makes him such a good physician, and Benny’s grateful to have a friend who keeps him focused. Without Cas, The Devil’s Forge would never have become a reality. 

He drives through the picturesque downtown, the truck’s suspension creaking as it rolls over the cobbled pavement. Lebanon is a small town, relying on tourism for most of its income. The festival is its biggest draw, and the chamber of commerce and local businesses go all out with promotion. Restaurants advertise shepherd’s pie, turkey legs, Cornish pasties, and lamb stew. The Crystal Bar promises to quench travelers’ thirst with mead and ale. Two suits of armor flank the entrance to Rosie’s Antiques, while another two guard the library. Benny smiles when he sees Anderson Home & Auto, now offering coverage for injuries sustained during single combat.

The festival is located about a mile outside of town. To reach it, Benny has to turn off the county highway onto a winding, twisting dirt road, then bounce and jostle along until he reaches the parking lot, which is really just a big grassy field. From there he can see the wooden towers and archway of the small medieval stronghold. A huge banner with Old English style lettering hangs over the entrance: _We Bid Ye Welcome to the Village of Lebanon!_

Despite the tension between him and Cas, Benny feels a comforting sense of nostalgia sweep over him at the sight. He really does love coming here. He gets to see people he doesn’t see at any other time of year, and lots of opportunities to see what other crafters have been working on during the off-season. Most importantly, he gets to wear a kilt without getting any strange looks.

Benny pulls into their assigned parking spot; Cas is out of the cab before Benny even turns off the ignition. Either he’s just eager to start unloading, or he wants to avoid making conversation. Probably both. Benny takes a deep breath in through his nose, then lets it out slowly. He can do this. They just have to power through the awkwardness and then things will go back to normal. It’s fine.

He gets out of the truck and walks around to the back, lifting his cap up slightly to wipe his forehead. It’s not even nine yet and already the air is sticky and blistering. Why does the fair have to happen during the hottest time of year?

Cas is up in the truck bed, dragging boxes to the edge for easy access. Benny reaches over the side and takes out the hand dolly they use for hauling. 

“You on call today?” he asks.

“Noon to six,” Cas grunts. “But Tessa’s working the tent all day, and I doubt she’ll need help unless it’s something really urgent.”

When he’s not helping Benny run the business, Cas volunteers as an on-call medic during the fair. He doesn’t usually have to do much more than treat mild cases of heatstroke and scraped knees, but at least one serious injury occurs every season. Most are jousting-related, but last year a patron got hit in the face with a spinning plate during the juggling show, and the year before that, a horse nearly bit off a little girl’s finger (keep your hand _flat_ when you’re feeding animals, kids, it’s just common sense.)

Benny pulls boxes down from the truck, stealing glances at Cas when his back is turned. His hair is already a mess, sticking up wildly in every direction, and Benny can see dark patches forming underneath the arms of his button-down shirt. Something low and hot stirs in his belly, but he squashes it quickly. Cas might be gay as the day is long, but if he’d wanted Benny like that, he would have said something a long time ago. Lord knows he says everything else that comes into his head.

So Benny tears his eyes away from Cas’ biceps and stacks the boxes on the dolly one by one, steadily building a cardboard tower, deliberately not thinking about what the beads of sweat dotting Cas’ forehead would taste like under his tongue.

He and Castiel have been coming to the Lebanon Renaissance Festival for the past five years, ever since Cas convinced him to turn his metalworking hobby into a side business, and every year it gets harder for Benny to ignore the simmering desire bubbling underneath his skin. There’s something about festival season that brings it too close to the surface. Being constantly surrounded by straining bodices and muscled thighs in tights is enough to drive anyone crazy.

It doesn’t help that the fair is a mecca for every kinkster within a two-hundred mile radius. Corsets, codpieces, masks, chainmail, leather… crafters make a killing working the ren faire circuit. As a blacksmith, Benny doesn’t get too many kinky requests, but he does make the occasional custom piece. The look on Cas’ face when Benny showed him the order for a custom spreader bar engraved in Elvish was priceless, especially when Cas translated the text and discovered it was definitely _not_ a phrase Tolkien would have appreciated.

A familiar voice floats across the humid air. “Hey, it’s Captain Buzzkill and his beefcake buddy! How’s it hanging, my compadres?”

Gabriel Milton, proprietor of Sweet N’ Tart, practically skips across the grass towards them. Benny pauses, grateful for a distraction, but Cas just rolls his eyes and keeps unloading.

“A little to the left, brother,” Benny tells Gabriel with a grin. “How’s life treating you?”

“Can’t complain, can’t complain,” Gabe says, pulling one of his trademark lollipops out of his pocket and unwrapping it. “Business is booming, probably gonna open a new location in Kansas City next year.” He sticks the lollipop in his mouth and sucks on it in a borderline obscene fashion. “But enough about me! What have you boys been up to? Besides pining over me, of course.”

“The day I start pining over you is the day I sprout wings and fly,” Castel declares, jumping down from the truck bed.

“C’mon, Cassie,” Gabriel says, smirking. “You know I’ll wear you down eventually.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“You are zero fun.” Gabriel gives his lollipop another lick and turns back to Benny. “So! Any chance you’re ready to jump into the dating pool again, big guy? I’ve been here since Tuesday, and let me tell you, we got some fine-looking specimens this year.”

Benny deliberately does not look at Cas. “Think I’ll pass, cher,” he says evenly.

“That’s what you say every year,” Gabriel scoffs. “You’re missing out, buddy. Jiggly jugglers. Swarthy swordsmen. Bosomy barmaids.” His expression turns dreamy. “I especially like the new fire breather. She is _smoking_ hot.” He elbows Benny in the ribs. “See what I did there? _Hot_ , get it?”

“I get it, brother,” Benny says, shaking his head. Gabe is like a toddler trying to get his parents’ attention.

The smaller man claps Benny on the back. “I’m telling you, dude. This is your year. You’re gonna find that special someone, I can _feel_ it.”

Benny just nods. It’s easier to agree with Gabriel than argue with him. “So,” he says, “we still got a lot to do, but if you wanna help out—”

“Nah, I’m good,” Gabe says cheerfully. “You guys got this. I’ll stop by once you’re all set up.” If there’s one thing that gets rid of Gabriel, it’s the threat of hard work. It’s why he’s wandering around here instead of watching his shop; the candy seller takes the concept of delegating to a whole new level.

“I despise that man,” Cas growls, watching Gabe wander off to bother another set of newcomers.

“At least we don’t share a wall anymore,” Benny reminds him. 

“True.” Cas visibly shudders. 

Among other things, Gabriel is notorious for transforming his booth into an adult playroom after hours, and he is _not_ shy about inviting anyone and everyone to take advantage of it. During Benny and Cas’ first year at the fair, the muffled moans and dirty talk on the other side of their shared wall kept them both awake for hours. Benny didn’t mind too much— hell, it was more action than he’d had in months— but Cas was livid. “I need _sleep_ ,” he’d hissed, practically vibrating with rage. Benny had to physically restrain him from marching over to Gabe’s booth and breaking up the party. He also had to restrain himself from doubling over with laughter at Castiel’s indignation.

It might get him into trouble sometimes, but Cas’ passionate nature is Benny’s favorite thing about him. He feels everything intensely, both good and bad. He laughs too loudly in movie theaters and goes on rants about suboptimal produce in grocery stores. He cries when the baby birds he rescues don’t make it, and shouts obscenities at religious zealots who protest outside his clinic. He’s stood between Benny and the liquor cabinet more than once, refusing to back down even in the face of his friend’s anger. The man is equal parts warrior and caretaker, and no one— absolutely _no one_ — will ever be good enough for him. Least of all Benny himself.

“You wanna go on ahead?” he asks, suddenly wanting to be alone. “The booth could use a good dusting before we start putting merch on the shelves.”

“That’s a good idea,” Cas says distractedly, running a hand through his hair and making it twice as messy. “If you’re okay hauling the first few loads.”

“Sure thing, brother.”

“Okay,” Cas says, nodding to himself, clearly running through a mental checklist. “Okay,” he repeats. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

“Water,” Benny reminds him.

“Right.” Cas retrieves his water bottle and the two gallon plastic jug from the truck. “Try not to melt.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“You always do,” Cas says absently, and Benny can’t quite tell if he meant to say that out loud.

He watches his friend set off across the field of limp brown grass. The sunlight illuminates his profile, giving him an almost ethereal glow.

Gabriel’s wrong. Five years he’s come to the fair with Cas, and every year it’s the same old story. This one won’t be any different.

* * *

“Fuck,” Dean groans, setting down his sword and picking up his water bottle. “I always forget how hot it gets here.”

“You’ve lived in San Fran too long, city boy,” Alastair teases. “Out here we actually _have_ summer.”

“Ugh.” Dean downs half the bottle and pours the rest over his head. “Why the fuck did I move back home?” 

“Something about being a good son, I heard.”

“Yeah. What the hell was I thinking?” Dean shakes his head like a dog, sending water droplets flying everywhere, and picks up his sword. “Okay, I’m ready. Let’s go.”

The two knights resume their starting positions and begin their fight again. Boots grit in the gravel, sending up small puffs of dust. Steel clangs against steel, blades glinting in the sun. Dean’s more awake now, blood pumping through his body, eyes focused on his opponent as they circle one another. Everything unnecessary fades into the background— the squires prepping the field, the small group of spectators watching from the sidelines, even the sweat dripping into his eyes. His focus narrows to the man in front of him, where his sword is going next, where his feet need to be. It’s a dance they’ve practiced dozens of times, but it never gets boring.

Alastair is an excellent sparring partner. This is his ninth summer at the fair and he’s coached Dean extensively over the past four weeks, correcting his mistakes, improving his technique. Dean can hardly wait to perform in front of a live audience tomorrow. Once Dean knocks Alastair off his horse during the seated joust, they’ll have to use their swords to finish the match. Alastair will put up a good fight, but ultimately Dean will get the jump on him. Alastair will then pop the blood pack underneath his jerkin, causing a geyser of bright red liquid to spurt from his chest, and die spectacularly on the field with a series of agonized (but extremely manly) screams.

It’s gonna be _awesome_.

By the end of their second runthrough, both knights are grinning despite the sweat pouring down their faces.

“Well, I’m feeling good,” Alastair says. “How about you?”

“Fantastic.” Dean wipes his forehead with a corner of his t-shirt. “We’re gonna knock ’em dead tomorrow.” He snickers. “Well, technically I’m gonna knock _you_ dead.”

“Ha, ha.” Alastair bends down to remove his shin guards. “Only because we planned it that way. If we were fighting for real, I’d slaughter you.”

“Ooh, big talk,” Dean teases, but they both know Alastair’s right. The dude might be awkward and geeky off the field, but once he’s suited up on horseback as the Red Knight of Hell, he transforms into a truly formidable foe. He’s even got a special voice for his character, a grating, nasally lisp that sends shivers up Dean’s spine. No wonder the guy does community theater during the off season. He’s an incredible actor. But he also works at a board game shop and dresses his cats up for all major holidays, so Dean can’t take him _that_ seriously.

“You gonna check out the craft booths later?” he asks Alastair as they walk back to the campground.

“Maybe. I need to go over the roster with Bobby one more time, and I promised Arthur I’d practice with him—”

“Whoa,” Dean interrupts, “you have got to chill, man. Have a little fun.” He smirks, then adds in a singsong voice, “Meg’s gonna be super sad if you don’t say hellooo!”

Color rises in Alistair’s thin cheeks. “No she won’t,” he mumbles. “She’s with Ruby.”

“Dude, how many times do I have to tell you? They’re poly. You’re not crossing any lines.”

“I know.” The other man looks uncomfortable. “I just don’t want to get on Ruby’s bad side.” He swallows audibly. “She’s scary.”

Dean laughs. “Can’t argue with that.”

* * *

It takes Cas and Benny most of the morning to set up the booth. Actually, “booth” is a bit of an understatement. The Devil’s Forge occupies one-half of a large, timber-framed, Tudor-style house, one of many such structures lining the streets of the fairgrounds. The lower half is the actual shop where they display all of Benny’s swords, daggers, axes and other metalwork. The upper half is their living space. The room is small, only ten by twelve feet, but it’s paradise compared to sleeping in a tent or even an RV. Benny's pride and joy, a home-built forge, has its own space in a fenced yard next to the shop.

Castiel unlocks the corrugated metal doors and rolls them up with a loud bang. The air is warm and close in here, filled with the familiar scents of pine and sulfur. A cursory glance around the shop reassures him that nothing has moved since last season. He unlatches all the windows, letting bars of sunlight cascade through the building, and breaks out the cleaning supplies.

He goes over everything with a dust cloth and furniture polish, so by the time Benny brings in all the boxes, every wooden surface is gleaming. The only thing he hasn’t touched is the forge. That’s Benny’s domain, and Castiel is more than happy to let him handle it. He’s seen too many burns in his line of work to be cavalier about working with fire.

While Benny unpacks his tools, Castiel begins unwrapping merchandise. His friend has absolutely no sense of interior design, so it fell to Castiel to decide the best way to display everything. The booth’s former owner was a leather crafter, so there were already plenty of wooden wall hooks and racks in place, but Castiel still had to spend hours reinstalling them so they could hold items like longswords and helmets.

At eleven-thirty, Benny appears beside Castiel, his familiar musky scent filling the humid air. “You wanna break for lunch?”

Castiel swallows hard, reminding himself just in time not to lick his lips. “Sure.”

Benny takes his cap off and wipes his forehead with a grease-dotted rag. “I’ll grab the cooler from the truck if you guard the merch.”

“Deal.” Castiel takes the rag from him and dabs at his own face. “Fuck, it’s hot.”

“Still better than N’awlins.” Benny tosses the rag onto the counter, puts his cap back on, and steps out into the miniature “street” running past their booth. “Back in a few, brother.”

Castiel watches Benny amble off, all big-shouldered and broad-chested, a pang going through his chest. Damn Gabriel and his stupid big mouth. He does _not_ want Benny getting set up with anyone else. First of all, no one will ever be good enough. Second of all… well, he can’t think of a second reason. The first one’s adequate.

He picks up the dirty rag from the counter and holds it briefly to his nose, breathing in the scent of Benny’s perspiration. It’s pathetic. He _knows_ it’s pathetic. But he can’t seem to stop.

He drops the rag with an annoyed huff. Keeping busy is the only thing that helps, and with that in mind he squats down and begins rearranging the rows of knives and daggers in the display case, making sure they’re all facing the same way.

He becomes so focused on his task that he doesn’t realize someone is in the booth until the sound of a man clearing his throat gets his attention. Castiel glances up through the glass front of the case to see a pair of slightly bowed legs clad in dust-streaked denim. He sighs inwardly. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, standing up, “we don’t open until tom—”

He chokes on the rest of the word, because the man standing in front of him is none other than _Dean freaking Winchester_ from Lawrence High. Captain of the football team, prom king, and Castiel’s first serious crush. What the hell is he doing here?

Dean stares at him for a long moment, green eyes wide. Then a cautious smile spreads over his lips. “Cas?” he says in a wonderfully deep, honeyed drawl. “That you?”

_He remembers me._ Castiel wipes his hands on his shorts, trying to smile, but it probably just looks like he’s constipated. “Hello, Dean,” he says, thankful his voice doesn’t crack. “Yes, it’s me.”

“Damn.” Dean reaches up and rubs the back of his neck, a familiar gesture that sends Castiel’s heart rate into overdrive. “You, uh… you grew up. I mean, you look good.”

Heat floods his face. “So do you,” Castiel murmurs. “I mean, you always looked good, but… you know what I mean.”

Dean grins and Castiel feels his knees wobble. Jesus, he’s just as gorgeous as he was in high school. His hair’s a little longer and there’s a slight pudge around his belly that wasn’t there before, but it’s still the same Dean with the broad shoulders, slim waist, freckled face and crooked grin.

And apparently Castiel is still the same awkward, fumbling fuckup because instead of making small talk like a normal person, he says the dumbest possible thing you could say to someone you haven’t talked to in fifteen years.

“I still have that mixtape you made me,” he blurts out, and immediately wants to stab himself with one of Benny’s longswords.

“The.” Dean looks confused for a second, but then his face clears and he gives Castiel a bigger smile. “Oh! The Zeppelin one?”

“Yes. I still have it. I still listen to it sometimes.”

“Wow. Shit, that’s…” Dean’s blushing now, too. “That’s embarrassing.”

“For me, or for you?”

“Me, obviously. You don’t make people mixtapes unless you’ve got a huge crush on them.”

The wooden floor suddenly feels like rubber under his feet. “You… had a crush on me?”

“Oh, yeah. _Major_ crush.” Dean winks at him, and Castiel catches a glimpse of the charming, confident boy he used to gaze at longingly in third period English. “Never said anything, though. I was kinda scared you’d turn me down.”

“I...” Castiel tries not to swallow his tongue. “I had no idea.”

“Well, you did kinda have your head in the clouds,” Dean teases. “Always studying, always reading. Plus you were older. I’m not surprised you didn’t notice me.”

“Oh, I noticed.” Castiel clears his throat. “I… sort of had a crush on you, too.”

“Really?” Dean’s blush spreads down his face to his neck, and it’s absolutely gorgeous. “Well, I’ll be damned. Talk about missed opportunities.” He glances down at the display case. “So, are you working the circuit?”

“No,” Castiel says, relieved at the change of subject. “We used to, but the past couple years it’s gotten to be too much. We just do Lebanon now.”

“We?” Dean’s tone is casual, but his expression is suddenly guarded.

“Oh, my friend Benny and I,” Castiel hastens to explain. “We’re co-owners. He does most of the work, though. He made all these himself.” He gestures around the shop.

“You talkin’ me up, Hot Wings?” 

Castiel’s head snaps up. Benny is standing in the doorway, cooler tucked under one arm, and Castiel feels a flash of guilt, which is ridiculous. He has a perfect right to talk to anybody he wants.

“Benny, this is Dean Winchester,” he says, hoping his voice doesn’t shake. “We went to high school together. Dean, this is my friend Benny Lafitte.”

“That so?” Benny takes a step forward, adjusting his cap. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Winchester.”

“Likewise.” Dean smiles as they shake hands, although it seems less genuine than before. He lets go rather quickly and takes half a step back, shoving his hands in his pockets. “So you’re a blacksmith, huh?”

“Only on the side. Rest of the time I work at an auto body shop in Emporia.”

“Really?” Dean’s eyes light up. “That’s awesome.”

“Not really.” Benny chuckles. “It’s Cas who has the cushy job.”

Dean’s eyes flick back to Castiel, curious. “What are you, a lawyer or something?”

Castiel shakes his head. “I’m a general practitioner at a clinic in Cottonwood Falls.”

“A doctor?” Dean looks impressed. “Damn. Guess all that studying paid off.”

Castiel shrugs, uncomfortable with the praise. “What about you? The last I heard, you were out on the West Coast working for a tech startup.”

Dean tilts his head, a crooked grin tugging at his mouth. “You Facebook stalking me, Cas? I’m flattered.”

Castiel’s face heats up again. “No,” he stammers, “I just— I keep in touch with Charlie. You know, Charlie Bradbury? She mentions you sometimes.”

“Uh huh.” Dean’s still grinning. “Well, I was in Silicon Valley for a while, then San Francisco. I moved back to Lawrence in April.”

_Oh my god, he’s moved back home. Less than two hours away from me._ “I see.” Castiel tries to keep his voice neutral. “Just needed a change?”

Dean shrugs. “Yeah, I mean, my folks are getting older, and I wanted to be closer to them. Plus I kinda missed small town life.” He gestures outward. “I used to volunteer at this thing every summer growing up. Figured it would be something fun to do while I’m job-hunting.”

“You performing?” Benny inquires.

“Yup!” Dean puffs his chest out a little. “I’m a jouster. I’ve only ever been a squire before, but I trained super hard this summer and now I _finally_ get to do the real thing.”

The image of Dean seated on a horse in armor, hips rolling in sync with his steed’s gallop, makes Castiel’s brain go foggy. “That’s… very cool,” he manages.

“Damn right it is.” Dean flashes him another grin. “You guys should come watch me tomorrow. I’ve got two fights in the morning and three in the afternoon. And I only die in one of ’em.”

Benny laughs. “Sounds like fun, chief, but I gotta watch the booth. Cas can probably stop by, though. Bein’ on call means he’s got more, ah, flexibility.”

Castiel looks sharply at Benny. Is he trying to set him up with Dean? Why would he do that? As stupid as it is, he kind of wishes Benny seemed bothered by Dean’s flirting. Doesn’t he feel even a _little_ jealous?

“I’ll see if I can get away,” he promises Dean.

“You better.” Dean points finger-guns at both of them. “Come watch the three o’clock bout if you can. I kick _serious_ ass in that one.” And with that, he saunters out of the booth, his own ass a beautiful sight to behold.

“Well,” Benny drawls as soon as they’re alone, “who was _that_ tall drink of water?”

“I told you,” Castiel mutters. “I knew him in high school.”

“Yeah, I got that.” Benny smirks. “Question is, why haven’t I heard about him before?”

“He’s been gone,” Castiel says shortly.

“But he’s back now.”

“Apparently.” Castiel opens the cooler and starts rummaging through the contents. “I need a sandwich, I’m starving.”

“Take your pick, brother.” Benny reaches in and pulls out a dripping can of Coke. “Got ham and Swiss on rye, roast beef and cheddar on wheat, and a couple of PB&Js.”

Castiel lets out an appreciative groan. “Have I ever mentioned that you’re a sexy bastard, Benjamin?”

“Only when I make you food.”

For a while there’s silence, filled only with the sounds of chewing. Benny eats one sandwich in three gigantic bites, then washes it down with half of his Coke.

“So you gonna go to the joust?” he asks.

Castiel takes a bite of PB&J in order to buy himself time. By the time he swallows, Benny’s already started on a second sandwich.

“I don’t know,” Castiel says at last. “I think it would be awkward.”

“Why?”

“I barely know him. And I’d be watching by myself, which seems sort of pathetic.”

“Well, he obviously wants you there.” Benny eyes him over the rim of his Coke can. “And I’ll be honest, brother. If someone was looking at me the way he was looking at you, I wouldn’t give a shit how awkward it was.”

Castiel opens his mouth but no words come out. The injustice and sheer ridiculousness of the situation with Benny hits him hard. He has been pining over a man who doesn’t love him back for nearly seven years. Now his high school crush is back in town and practically throwing himself at Castiel. How much clearer could the universe be? It’s time for him to move on. It’s a good thing, really, that Benny’s encouraging him to pursue Dean. It’s what friends are supposed to do.

So why does it hurt so much?

“Fine,” Castiel says, crushing his empty Coke can in his fist. “I’ll go.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean’s an idiot. He is one-hundred-percent certifiably insane. Only Dean Winchester could turn an opportunity to get laid into a mission to get someone ELSE laid.

Cas. 

_Castiel._

Castiel freaking Novak is here, and _damn_ he looks good. He was pretty freaking cute in high school, but in a skinny, bookish kind of way. Grown-up Cas is all big shoulders and thick thighs, and his voice has gone deep and raspy and sexy as hell. _Fuck._ Dean never should have left Lawrence. If he’d stayed, he might’ve had a shot. Instead, he gets to watch Cas live out his perfect life with his perfect hunky blacksmith. Ugh.

Dean resists the urge to smack his forehead against a nearby tree. Instead, he pulls out his phone and texts Charlie.

**Dude how could you not tell me that Castiel Novak volunteers here?**

_Cas is HERE??_

**He’s on the med crew**

_DUDE_

**He’s a DOCTOR and hot af**

_DUDE YOU GOTTA HIT THAT_

**Can’t**

_WHY NOT_

**He has a boyfriend :(**

_NOOOOO_

**Southern guy, super hot**

_That sucketh mucheth_

**It doth**

* * *

The next day, Castiel leaves the booth shortly before three o’clock and makes his way to the jousting arena, feeling both nervous and embarrassed. It’s so stupid, going to an event he would never normally attend just to get a glimpse of his high school crush. He’s thirty-six with a medical degree; he’s too old to behave like this.

He parks himself on a patch of prickly brown grass near the fence, elbows hanging loosely on his knees. The heat from yesterday has not abated; if anything, it’s gotten worse. He wipes a bead of sweat from his temple.

Trumpets ring out, announcing the arrival of the Queen and her consort. Everyone turns to watch as they parade up the wooden platform, and Castiel is pleasantly surprised to see that Charlie Bradbury is playing the role of Queen this year. He should really make more of an effort to keep in touch with her. Charlie was always such a good friend in high school, drawing Castiel out of his shell and encouraging him to be himself. Maybe she could help him stop acting like a complete moron around Dean, since apparently Castiel regresses to teenage levels of awkwardness when interacting with him.

Charlie settles herself on the ornate throne, gestures at her attendants to take their seats, and then her voice booms through the speakers surrounding the arena. 

“Welcome gentlefolk, lords and ladies, all subjects of the realm!” she cries. “‘Tis a glorious day for a joust!” The crowd cheers and applauds. “Our first contender has something of a bloody reputation.” Dramatic pause. “I give you Sir Alastair of Morningstar, the Red Knight of Hell!”

Every head in the crowd turns to the far end of the arena as a horse gallops through the gates, its entire body and head covered in black cloth with red trim. Its rider wears the same colors over his shining steel armor, helmet glinting in the sun. A painted red shield is strapped to the knight’s left forearm, while his right hand holds a black and red striped lance. 

The audience lets out a mixture of cheers and boos as the Red Knight approaches the Queen’s platform and flips the visor of his helmet up. Castiel has a perfect view of the man’s face— thin and sharp with a pointed beard. He gives Charlie a simpering smile and inclines his head deeply.

“Sir Alastair!” Charlie declares. “You have dared to show your face at my court. A bold move for one so sly. Have you any last words before my champion humiliates you in single combat?”

“Your Majesty,” the Red Knight says in a pinched, nasally voice that instantly grates on Castiel’s nerves. “Many claims have been made about me, none of them true. I am but your humble servant who wishes nothing more than to prove himself.”

“Enough!” the Queen retorts. “We shall soon see who is the better fighter. Ladies and gentlefolk, I present to you a new challenger, one who has already earned my trust and proven his worth ten times over. I give you Sir Dean of Winchester, Green Knight of the Realm!”

A warm burst of nerves flood Castiel’s stomach as he looks towards the gates. A pause, and then another horse gallops into the arena in a cloud of dust and whirling hooves. This one is clad in white and green, colors that contrast beautifully with the horse’s black coat. And _Dean…_ Dean looks absolutely magnificent, sitting straight and tall in the saddle, burnished bronze armor underneath green and white leather, green shield strapped to his left arm, white and gold striped lance in the crook of his right. His body moves in perfect sync with his mount, hips rolling sinuously in time with the horse’s canter, and Castiel feels heat surge up his face that is totally unrelated to the high humidity index.

There is no hint of booing this time; the crowd cheers as one entity. Dean tugs gently on the reins, turning his horse so it’s facing the audience. He flips his visor up and lifts his lance in a salute while a squire runs the length of the fence, encouraging the crowd to make more noise. Castiel can see a couple of little kids down near the front row, jumping up and down with glee.

Even from a distance, it’s clear Dean is having the time of his life. He has a huge grin on his face as he makes his way towards the Queen’s platform. 

“Your Majesty,” he says, voice rich, melodious, and perhaps a bit deeper than usual.

“Sir Winchester,” Charlie replies. “You have protected this kingdom from many foes. I ask you to prove your worth again. Make quick work of this scoundrel and you shall be rewarded handsomely.”

“Of course, my Queen,” Dean replies.

“You’ll never win, Winchester,” Sir Alastair sneers. “You’re not strong enough to unseat me.”

“In that case, I’ll just skewer you with my lance and roast you over the fire,” Dean retorts, making the audience laugh.

“We shall see,” the Knight of Hell declares, turning his horse around and galloping down to the far end of the arena.

“Are you ready, sirs?” Charlie cries.

“Aye!”

“Aye!”

Another squire walks onto the field, carrying a long pole with a bright yellow ribbon attached to the end. She lifts it high above her head, and the entire arena falls silent. 

The ribbon drops. The squire races back to a safe distance as the knights gallop towards each other, lances held stiff and horizontal at their sides. Castiel holds his breath.

Everything happens so fast that he can barely process what he’s seeing. One moment the knights are barrelling towards one another; the next a sharp _crack_ splits the air and a piece of wood goes flying across the arena.

“A hit!” the Queen shouts. “Sir Winchester has snapped the point of his lance on Sir Alastair’s shield! Two points for the Green Knight!”

Castiel claps along with the rest of the audience, unable to keep from grinning. Dean slows his horse to a brisk trot and rides along the length of the fence, arm raised in triumph. He comes quite close to Castiel, and for a brief moment he wonders if Dean can see him. Probably not. Even if he can, the man is one hundred percent in character with no time to spare for gawking peasants.

The knights resume their previous positions at opposite ends of the field, and the squire steps forward to give the same signal as before. The ribbon drops and the knights race towards one another again, armor clanking, reins jingling, hoofbeats shaking the ground.

Castiel knows what to expect this time, but it still happens ridiculously fast. The Red Knight manages to hit Dean’s shield, but his lance doesn’t break, meaning he only gets one point. The crowd cheers as the knights take position once again.

“It is the third and final round!” Charlie declares. “Do not fail me, Sir Winchester!”

“Never, my Queen!” Dean shouts.

The ribbon drops a third time. Hooves kick up dust and the crowd holds its breath as the opponents charge towards each other.

It happens in a split second. There’s a horrible metallic _thud,_ a panicked shout, and Dean topples off his horse, hitting the ground like a sack of cement.

A collective gasp rises from the audience. Castiel cranes his neck, trying to get a better look. Is this part of the act?

The Red Knight has reached the end of the run. When he turns his horse around and catches sight of Dean sprawled on the ground, he immediately dismounts and hands his horse’s reins to a nearby squire. That seems to be some type of signal that something is wrong, because another squire and two members of the safety crew rush onto the field and surround Dean, who still hasn’t moved.

Castiel makes a split-second decision. If Dean is badly hurt, he needs medical attention as soon as possible. Castiel can provide that far more quickly than Tessa, who won’t be able to get here for another few minutes at least. He rises to his feet and jogs over to the fence where another safety volunteer is stationed.

“I’m a doctor,” he says, flashing his ID badge. “I can help.” The volunteer gives him a swift nod and lets him into the arena.

As Castiel crosses the field, he hears Charlie exclaim, “You go too far, Sir Alastair!”

“I meant no harm, Your Majesty,” the Red Knight replies, and Castiel realizes that the performers are improvising, trying to keep the show going while the safety crew examines Dean. “Truly. ’Twas an accident. Sir Winchester has earned my respect in this joust. I beg Your Majesty, please allow me to assist him, as one knight to another.”

“Very well,” Charlie says after a moment. “But be warned. If you have injured my champion, you will pay a heavy price.”

She continues speaking, but Castiel tunes her out. The most important thing right now is Dean, who’s still lying spread-eagled on the ground, unmoving.

He reaches the small knot of people clustered around the fallen knight. “Move aside, please,” he says, pushing a squire out of the way.

“Who the hell are you?” the squire demands. She’s small and blond and looks ready to clobber the living daylights out of him.

“I’m a doctor,” Castiel answers, kneeling down in the dirt next to Dean.

“Cas?” Dean croaks, staring up at him, green eyes comically wide. “What’re you doing here?”

“I was watching your fight,” Castiel tells him, scanning his face quickly. There’s a nasty scrape on Dean’s forehead and a thin trickle of blood is running down his temple, but no other obvious signs of trauma. “What’s the last thing you remember before you fell?”

Dean thinks for a few seconds. “I saw the lance coming at my face, so I ducked out of the way. Musta lost my balance.”

“Dean!” The Red Knight has reached them. “I’m so sorry! I lost my grip on the lance and I overcorrected.” All trace of his grating voice is gone; it must have been part of his character. He hovers over the pair of them, worry etched in deep lines on his face.

“It’s okay, Al.” Dean tries to sit up, but Castiel presses down firmly on his chest until he lies back down.

“I need you to stay still,” he instructs. “So you’re saying that the lance didn’t hit you?”

“That’s right.”

“Are you sure?”

Dean snorts. “Dude, if that thing actually hit me, I’d have a hole in my head.”

“Good,” Castiel says, then hastily adds, “I mean, it’s good that it didn’t hit you. That scrape must be from something else.”

The Queen’s voice booms from the speakers again. “Well, Sir Alastair? What is the status of Sir Winchester?”

The Red Knight glances at Castiel. “What should I tell her? Is he going to be okay?”

“I don’t know yet,” Castiel says.

“Well, I have to tell her _something._ ”

“Just say Chevy got spooked by a snake,” Dean suggests. “She freaked out and threw me. Tell her I’m calling for a rematch.”

“No,” Castiel says sharply. “You’re not getting back on that horse until I say so.”

Dean scowls. “I’m _fine,_ Cas.”

“Do what the doc says, idjit,” a gruff man in a baseball cap snaps. “Tell ’em the snake story, Al.”

“I grow impatient, Sir Alastair,” Charlie shouts. “Do not leave us in suspense!”

“Fine,” Alastair mutters, then turns to address the Queen.

“Hey Jo?” Dean glances up at the squire. “Take Chevy to the vet tent for me, would you?”

“But—”

“Jo, please.”

The squire throws Castiel another suspicious glance, then stalks off towards the black horse in a huff.

“And _you,_ ” the man in the baseball cap says, glaring down at Dean, “are gonna lie nice and still and let the doc check you out. Got it?”

“I’m not a child, Bobby,” Dean growls.

“I ain’t the one dressed like fucking Lancelot.”

“Sir,” Castiel cuts in, sensing an argument on the horizon, “would you please contact the med team and let them know I need assistance?”

“Sure thing,” Bobby replies, unclipping the walkie-talkie from his belt. “Behave, ya idjit,” he admonishes Dean, then steps away.

Castiel turns his attention back to his patient. “I’m going to check your pulse now, okay?”

Dean shoots him a flirty grin. “You can check anything you want, _Doctor_ Novak.”

Castiel’s face burns as he presses two fingers to the inside of Dean’s wrist, keenly aware of how warm Dean’s skin is against his, how the delicate veins pulse under his touch. 

He is so very screwed.

* * *

Benny’s getting antsy. What’s taking Cas so long? He always lets Benny know if he’s going to be late, but there’s been no word since he went down to the joust over an hour ago. Maybe he lost his phone. Or maybe he and Sir Dean of Whatever met up after the bout and are now cozied together somewhere. The thought makes his insides curl with jealousy, although he’s honestly not sure which man he’s more envious of.

It’s been a long time since he’s felt drawn to anyone besides Cas, but Dean definitely piqued Benny’s interest yesterday. He’s always had a thing for country boys, and despite his time on the West Coast, Dean’s got small town charm oozing out of his pores. Combined with that confident swagger and pretty face, the guy’s a walking wet dream. But what makes him most attractive is the way he looks at Cas— all soft and starry-eyed, like he’s something to be treasured. Man’s got his priorities in order.

Benny huffs out a sigh. This is his own fault, really, born of trying to play wingman for Cas. But what else is he supposed to do? Cas deserves someone wonderful, someone who’s got their shit together, who understands those fancy medical terms he throws around, who’s willing to move heaven and earth in order to be with him. Not a divorced middle-aged disaster with an eighth-grade education, too afraid to ask for what he wants. _Who_ he wants.

The afternoon drags on, the crowds gradually thinning out, and when five o’clock hits Benny decides he’s had enough of sitting around. There’s an itch under his skin and if he doesn’t scratch it soon, he’s gonna start a downward spiral into self-pity and spend the rest of the weekend trying to pull himself out.

He locks up the booth, pockets his phone (Cas still hasn’t messaged him), and hikes out to the parking lot. The inside of his truck is boiling hot from sitting in the sun all day, so he rolls down the windows and lets the air flow into the cab as he drives back to the highway.

There’s an abandoned salvage yard about a mile from the fairgrounds, a sandy field dotted with rusty skeletons of cars and overgrown patches of wheatgrass and bluestem. He discovered it his first year here after taking a wrong turn during a supply run to town. It’s the perfect place to escape from the noise and hubbub of the festival for an hour or so.

Benny drives through the lot and parks his truck in the shade of a large cottonwood tree. Wind rustles through the tall prairie grass, a soothing sound. He closes his eyes, trying to relax, but now that he’s alone, his body is thrumming with a mixture of anticipation and guilt. He hates how much he needs this, how desperate he gets after spending just a day or two in close proximity to Cas.

_Planning a few jerkoff sessions in your truck?_

_Cas, baby, you have no idea._

He reaches into the glove compartment with one hand and unbuttons his trousers with the other. Christ, he’s already half-hard. He squirts lube into his palm and wraps a hand around his cock, squeezing it gently, running his thumb over the head. He closes his eyes again and lets his imagination take over. 

In Benny’s fantasies, Cas is always in control. He tells Benny what to do and Benny does it happily, whether it’s sucking Cas off in the kitchen or letting Cas fuck him into the mattress. He’s not sure why the idea of Cas bossing him around gets him so hot, but he doesn’t question it too much. It’s his fantasy, no one else’s. He can do what he likes.

Which is why, when an image of Dean drifts into his mind, Benny doesn’t hesitate to add him into the scene. He imagines Cas ordering them both around, watching them, giving commands in that low, calm voice of his.

_“You’re a very lucky boy,” Cas purrs, pushing Dean face-down on the bed and spreading his legs apart. “I don’t usually share, but Benny’s always so good to me. I thought I’d give him a reward.” Dean whimpers, a small needy sound, and lifts his hips up._

_Cas turns to Benny and gives him a long, lingering kiss. “He’s got a beautiful ass, don’t you think?” Benny nods. “I bet it tastes delicious. Open him up, baby. Use your tongue.”_

_Benny buries his face between Dean’s cheeks, licking into his tight hole, feeling it quiver and pulse under his touch. Dean lets out a strangled moan, legs shaking, cock leaking all over the sheets. Cas kneels beside Benny, watching. “So good,” he praises, “you’re so good at that.” He wraps a hand around Benny’s dick and starts stroking, firm and steady. “Get him nice and wet and loose. Get him ready for my cock.”_

Benny jerks himself faster, reaching up to pinch a nipple. Sweat beads at his temples and soaks through his shirt.

_“That’s enough,” Cas says softly, pulling Benny back. Dean whines at the loss of contact, but then starts moaning when he feels the head of Cas’ cock press against his hole. “Yes, you want it so badly, I know.” He arches a brow at Benny. “Touch yourself,” he orders. “Keep yourself hard, because when I’m done with him, it’s your turn.”_

_Benny stands and does as he’s told, watching hungrily as Cas slides into Dean. Dean lets out a strangled sob, arching up on his toes and widening his stance to give Cas a better angle. “So tight,” Cas hisses, “so fucking tight. Feels so good.”_

Benny’s panting now, drawing in sticky lungfuls of muggy air as he strokes up and down, giving himself over to the fantasy. 

_He stands behind Cas, winds his arms around his lover’s waist, trails warm wet kisses up his neck. Cas hums with pleasure and starts rolling his hips back and forth, fucking into Dean, then rubbing his ass up against Benny’s cock. Everything is hot and sweaty and good, breathy moans and mindless friction, smooth skin and gentle touches._

_“Love you, baby,” Cas whispers. “Love you so much.”_

“Fuck,” Benny gasps out. His orgasm hits hard and unexpectedly, and he slams his head back against the seat, back arching, toes curling, cock throbbing. His vision whites out, come spilling warm and sticky over his fist, and for a few blissful seconds, he lets himself believe the dream is real.

* * *

“I don’t get it, man.” Dean takes a huge bite of his turkey leg and talks around it, cheeks bulging like a chipmunk’s. It should be disgusting, but Castiel finds it oddly cute. “Sexy accent. Pretty blue eyes. Built like a linebacker. Fixes cars. And he’s a friggin’ blacksmith. He makes _swords._ How are you not hitting that?”

Castiel smiles slightly. Normally his feelings for Benny are a painful topic of conversation, but Dean’s incredulous disbelief when he found out that Benny and Castiel aren’t together makes it hurt a little less. Maybe because Dean is looking at this whole thing with a fresh pair of eyes. He doesn’t know about the years of unrequited pining, the late-night pity parties with Jody and Donna, all the different ways Castiel has tried to bury his attraction. All Dean knows is what’s directly in front of him, and apparently he’s seeing things Castiel hasn’t noticed.

Like the fact that Benny may not be entirely straight.

“I mean, I think I’m a fairly attractive guy,” Dean says. “Not trying to brag or anything. I just mean objectively, I’m not hideous to look at, right?”

“You are most definitely not hideous,” Castiel murmurs, chasing a stray pea around his plate with his fork.

“Thanks Cas, that really means a lot to me,” Dean teases. 

They’re sitting at a rough-hewn wooden table outside the Boar’s Head Pub, surrounded by tired, sunburnt patrons and a few costumed revelers. When Castiel and Tessa agreed that Dean should refrain from jousting for the next forty-eight hours, Dean looked like someone had run over his cat with a lawn mower, so Castiel offered to take him out for a late lunch. Sort of an apology slash catching-up type thing. Dean had brightened at the mention of food, but he also seemed to think Castiel had asked him out on a date, which hadn’t been Castiel’s intention at all.

Okay, maybe it had. Dean’s very charming, and he _has_ been flirting with him. A lot. Even in front of Tessa, who smirked throughout the entire examination and at the end of it, announced that if Castiel didn’t ask Dean out, then she would. It was a pretty easy decision.

“Okay, so,” Dean continues, “my gaydar is shit compared to some people’s, but even _I_ noticed the way Benny was checking me out.”

Castiel nearly chokes on his shepherd’s pie. “He was checking you out?” 

“Don’t get jealous, huggy bear.” Dean shoots him a mischievous grin. “Point is, he was looking at me in an extremely non-heterosexual way. And _then_ I saw the way he looked at you.”

Heat floods Castiel’s face. He fights down the knee-jerk instinct to _deny deny deny_ and makes himself take a breath. Dean isn’t trying to give him false hope. He’s simply making an observation.

“How…” Castiel stops, clears his throat, then tries again. “How did he look at me?”

“Like my dad looks at my mom,” Dean says simply. “Like you’re his everything.”

Castiel stares down at his plate. There’s a hard, hot lump forming in his throat, and it suddenly feels like the world is closing in around him. _Was I wrong? This whole time, have I been wrong?_

“I don’t…” He swallows hard. “He can’t… he would have said something.”

“Have _you_ ever said something?”

A memory flashes through his mind. Seven years ago, sitting on the front porch of his newly purchased farmhouse, listening to the mysterious clinks and clanging noises coming from his neighbor’s faded red barn. Curiosity eventually drove him to investigate, and when he poked his head around the open barn door, he found a burly, sweaty bear of a man laboring at an honest-to-God blacksmith forge. When the man glanced up and his bright blue eyes landed on Castiel, his round bearded face split into a lazy grin. He’d set down the irons, wiped his sooty hands on a cloth, and introduced himself as Benny Lafitte, a recent transplant from Louisiana and a mechanic by trade. “Although I have it on good authority that I also make a mean alligator gumbo,” he’d said with a low, rich chuckle that made Castiel’s knees turn to jello. For a brief, shining moment he thought his dreams of a handsome stranger sweeping him off his feet were about to come true.

Then Benny’s wife Andrea had poked her head into the barn and invited Castiel in for iced tea. 

“There was never a good time,” Castiel says, dragging himself back to the present. “When I met him, he was married. Then he got divorced, and for a while it was all he could do just to get out of bed. Then the business took off, and I started my practice, and… it’s just been too long. It’s too late now.”

“I don’t believe that,” Dean says firmly. “It’s never too late. Tell him how you feel.”

“I can’t just…” Castiel splutters. “What, just walk up to him and say, ‘Hey Benny, I’ve had a crush on you for years, want to get coffee sometime?”

“Yes.”

Castiel barks out a bitter laugh. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s the toughest, most terrifying thing in the world,” Dean corrects. “That’s why you do it quickly. Like ripping off a bandaid.”

“And if he says no?”

Dean shrugs. “You guys have been friends for a long time. You’ll get past it.” 

“Why do you care so much?” Castiel wonders. “Shouldn’t you be _discouraging_ me from doing this?”

“Why would I discourage a guy from going after what he really wants?” Dean asks, and Castiel has no answer to that.

“What are you going to do with your day off?” he says instead.

Dean smirks. “Well, I can’t engage in any strenuous activity, so I guess I’ll just hang out with you.”

“Very funny.”

“Seriously, though, I’m gonna have to fix my armor. My helmet has a giant dent in it. Hey!” Dean’s face suddenly lights up. “You think Benny could fix something like that?”

Castiel shoots him a suspicious look. Dean looks back at him, eyes wide and innocent. 

“It’s possible,” Castiel says carefully.

“Cool.” Dean resumes gnawing on the turkey leg. “I’ll ask him.”

* * *

Dean’s an idiot. He is one-hundred-percent certifiably insane. Only Dean Winchester could turn an opportunity to get laid into a mission to get someone _else_ laid.

He should be over the goddamn moon that Cas isn’t with Benny. That’s _good_ news. It means Cas is fair game. It means that six feet of delicious, gravel-voiced doctor is single and ready to mingle. But because Dean’s a fucking idiot, all he can think about is how sad Cas looked when he talked about Benny. Sad and lonely and sort of… empty. Cas is totally in love with this dude and totally convinced that said dude doesn’t love him back. And that’s just not okay. Dean might be dumber than a box of rocks, but he’s still got eyes. He can see plain as day that Benny wants Cas just as much as Cas wants him, but apparently something is stopping the big guy from making a move. And Dean’s going to figure out what it is. 

Because he’s an idiot.

As it turns out, Benny _can_ fix armor. He can also do a bunch of other shit, like welding and bricklaying and carpentry. Apparently he restored most of his farmhouse himself. And of course, he knows cars. Dean’s already shown him approximately seven thousand photos of Baby in various stages of restoration, and the guy still doesn’t look bored. Cas, on the other hand, endured the car talk for about an hour, then declared he was going to turn into a sway bar if he listened for another minute. He’s long since gone upstairs to bed, but Benny seems content to stay down here with Dean. Maybe he’s avoiding Cas. If that’s the case, Dean can’t really blame the guy. If _he_ had to sleep four feet away from Cas without being able to jump his bones, he wouldn’t be too eager to go to bed, either.

It’s nearly midnight when Benny pulls out a bottle of bourbon from somewhere, and by one-thirty, Dean’s abandoned his perch on top of the display case in favor of the wooden floor, which is surprisingly comfortable. Benny’s sitting across from him, leaning against the wall of swords and daggers, glass hanging loosely from his fingers. He has nice hands, Dean thinks absently, large broad hands covered in dirt and grease and calluses. Working man’s hands.

“Well, thank you kindly, cher,” Benny drawls, and Dean realizes he’s said the words aloud.

“Fuck,” he says, then goes into a fit of giggles. Benny just grins, his bearded face crinkled up with mirth. “Sorry, dude. It’s just... the whole blacksmith thing. S’really fuckin’ hot.”

“I’ve been told that a time or two.” Benny tilts his head. “You ain’t too bad-looking yourself, brother.”

Dean’s ears turn uncomfortably warm. He always gets bashful when guys openly flirt with him, but the alcohol’s making him feel bold, so he says, “I’ve been told that a time or three,” and Benny chuckles, a nice warm sound.

Silence falls for a few seconds, broken only by the hum of crickets and distant shouts of late-night revelry. Dean takes another sip of bourbon, relishing the smoky burn down his throat. He opens his mouth to say he should probably get going, but Benny speaks first. 

“So,” he says, fiddling with his empty glass. “You and Cas had a thing back in high school, huh?”

It takes a couple seconds for the words to sink in. “What?” Dean lets out a startled laugh. “No.”

Benny raises his eyebrows.

“I’m serious,” Dean says. “I mean, I had a major crush on him, but I never did anything about it.”

Benny nods his head slowly. His next words are so low that Dean barely hears them.

“What stopped you?”

Dean’s suddenly alert, or as much as he can be with six fingers of bourbon in his system. He thought it would take a couple more weeks before Benny brought this up, but apparently Benny’s the type of guy who goes straight for the jugular.

“I don’t know,” Dean says, keeping his tone light. “A bunch of things, I guess. Cas always gave zero fucks about people liking him, even teachers. I admired that a lot. And he was insanely smart about _everything._ Like, the guy could quote Shakespeare from memory and ace a chemistry test on the same day. And I was just a dumb jock with one foot in the closet, so… guess I convinced myself he would never be interested.” He pauses. “You know what the funny part is?”

Benny finally looks up. His face is watchful, maybe a little wary. He doesn’t ask, but Dean says it anyway.

“I just found out yesterday,” he says, “that he had a crush on me, too. Ironic, huh?”

Something flickers in those blue eyes. Hope? Or maybe fear?

Benny lets the silence hang for a while, but it’s not unpleasant, just heavy. Dean wonders if he’s thinking back over the years, seeing signs he might have missed. Chances he might have taken.

Or maybe he just thinks Dean’s full of shit.

“Cas is a good man,” Benny says at last, his soft drawl floating across the space between them. “He deserves the best this world can give him.”

Dean squints at him in the dim light, trying to fill in the missing words. _The best. Cas deserves the best. Does Benny think he’s not good enough for Cas? Is that it?_

“Yeah,” Dean says, slow and careful. “Yeah, he does.”

He waits, but Benny doesn’t add anything more. After a brief pause, Benny heaves himself to his feet, swaying slightly.

“I best be goin’ to bed,” he says. “Early day tomorrow.”

“Oh.” Dean scrambles up. “Okay, man. Sorry. Didn’t mean to overstay my welcome or anything.”

“No worries, brother. This is the most fun I’ve had in awhile.” Benny offers him a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Stop by tomorrow afternoon if you can. Should have your helmet ready by then.”

“Okay,” Dean says, a bit awkwardly. “Should I just let myself out, or—?”

“Yeah, just go out the same way you came in. I’ll lock up behind you.”

Two minutes later, Dean is stumbling back to the campground, mind whirling like a tumbleweed across the prairie. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It doesn’t take long for Dean to realize that he’s not the only one who’s an idiot. These jackasses are a textbook example of miscommunication, and by the fourth weekend of the fair, Dean decides to take drastic action.

Castiel isn’t jealous. He _isn’t._ He’s a grown-ass man with far more important things to worry about than two of his crushes hitting it off last night. It means nothing. Dean’s already proven himself to be a huge flirt, and Benny— well, he doesn’t know what to think about Benny anymore. 

He rolls over on the narrow bunk and glares at the offending party, who’s just a giant lump under a pile of blankets, snoring loudly. He’d stumbled into the room at well past midnight, smelling like alcohol and sweat and muttering under his breath. Castiel had pretended to be asleep.

He shoves aside the covers and gets up, wincing at the ache in his back. Too much heavy lifting these past couple days.

Downstairs, the booth is silent and shrouded in darkness. Faintly Castiel can hear the sounds of their little village coming to life— clanging of pots and pans, sleepy shuffling feet, doors rattling, voices murmuring. It’s so different from life in the country, where their nearest neighbor is a mile away.

He turns on the Coleman camp stove and pulls out the speckled blue coffee pot, the motions automatic even though he’s still half-asleep. As he’s spooning coffee grounds into the basket, there’s an urgent knock at the door.

Blinking in confusion, Castiel shuffles over to the entrance. “Who is it?” he says, voice coming out hoarse and thick.

“Jo Harvelle,” comes the reply.

His confusion increases. “Who?”

An impatient sigh sounds from the other side of the door. “We met yesterday. I was at Dean’s joust when he fell off his horse.”

“Oh!” Castiel unlocks the door and rolls it up. Sure enough, the small blond squire is scowling up at him, although her Winnie the Pooh t-shirt is somewhat undercutting her attempt at intimidation.

“My apologies,” Castiel says. “I’m not quite awake yet.”

“Obviously.”

“Is there a reason you’re bothering me this early?”

Jo’s scowl deepens. “It’s Dean. He says he’s going to joust today.”

“What?” Castiel is immediately more awake. “He’s not cleared for that yet.”

Jo snorts. “Then you must not know Dean very well. Once he’s made up his mind, nothing stops him.”

“Where is he now?”

“At the morning cast call.” She sighs at Castiel’s blank look. “Stage Two, near the pickle stand.”

“Okay.” Castiel is already putting on his shoes. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Maybe I can talk him out of it.”

Jo snorts again and starts walking away. “Yeah, good luck with that.”

* * *

It takes Castiel a good fifteen minutes to find the cast call. Evidently his memory of the village layout is more rusty than he thought. When he finally locates Stage Two, a large platform encircled by a dozen wooden benches, he immediately starts scanning for Dean.

He spots him sitting next to Charlie, looking frankly adorable in a pair of hot dog pajama pants and tousled bed head. Castiel hurries over, whispering apologies as he bumps into people’s legs.

He reaches Dean’s bench and pokes him in the shoulder. Dean’s head jerks up— clearly he’s not entirely awake either— and grins brightly when he sees Castiel. 

“Heya Cas,” he says, shifting over and patting the spot beside him. “Have a seat.”

“Castiel!” Charlie exclaims, beaming. “Dean told me you volunteer here! Such a small world!”

“Yes, very, ” Castiel says distractedly. “Is it true you’re thinking of jousting today, Dean?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Did Jo tell you that?”

“She did, yes.”

“Sit down,” a man in the row behind them hisses.

Castiel ignores him. “May I remind you that you’re banned from all strenuous activity for the rest of the weekend?”

“Awww,” Charlie coos. “He’s _worried_ about you, Dean. That’s so sweet.”

“It is not _sweet,_ ” Castiel says, exasperated. “I’m simply expressing concern. As a medical professional.”

“Love it when you talk dirty to me, Cas,” Dean says, waggling his eyebrows.

“Sit _down,_ ” the man behind them hisses again.

Dean scowls and turns around in his seat. “Cool your jets, Marv.”

“He is _disrupting_ the meeting,” Marv yells in a whisper. 

“Be silent,” Charlie orders. “Your Queen commands it.”

“We’re not in _character_ right now, Charlie—”

“Jesus Christ.” Dean reaches up and yanks on Castiel’s arm, pulling him down to the bench. “There. He’s sitting. Now shut your face.”

Marv huffs and crosses his arms, still glaring.

“I strongly advise you to refrain from jousting today, Dean,” Castiel says in what he hopes is a menacing whisper. “You already have a minor concussion; if you fall again, you will almost certainly have a major one.”

Dean heaves a dramatic sigh. “All right, doc. You win.”

Castiel blinks. “I… what?”

“I won’t joust today.”

Castiel stares at him. “Jo said it would be impossible to convince you otherwise.”

Dean shrugs, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. “What can I say? You’re very persuasive.” He glances over at Charlie. “You’re up, Your Highnessness.”

Charlie beams at him, stands up, and climbs onto the bench. “Hear ye, hear ye!” she cries, and the entire crowd falls silent. “The savior of Sir Winchester has arrived!”

Castiel looks up at the stage, wondering how the woman leading this meeting will react to the interruption. She doesn’t appear to be surprised. Instead, she smiles at Charlie and then looks straight at Castiel. _Uh oh._

“So, as most of you know, there was an incident yesterday during the three o’clock joust,” the woman says, and there’s an assenting murmur from the assembled performers. “Our brave Sir Dean fell from his horse, but luckily, an unexpected hero came to the rescue.”

Castiel glances sharply at Dean, who looks about three seconds away from bursting out laughing.

“A brave medical volunteer went above and beyond the call of duty to make sure Dean was all right,” the woman continues. “You have our utmost gratitude, Dr. Novak!”

The entire cast erupts into a frenzy of applause, whistles, and catcalls. Castiel’s face turns bright red.

“You planned this!” he hisses at Dean. “You… you _miscreant._ ”

“Stand up, Cas,” Dean says with a smug grin. “Take a bow.”

“I will not.”

“Aw, c’mon.” Dean’s eyes are twinkling. “I almost _died_ yesterday. Be nice.”

“You did _not_ almost die, you melodramatic assbutt,” Castiel growls, but then Dean actually _pouts_ at him, and it’s impossible to resist something so damn cute. With a sigh, Castiel stands up, gives a brief, vague wave at the people around him, then quickly sits down again, cheeks still flaming. 

Dean scoots closer to him, thigh pressing up against Castiel’s, solid and warm through the soft flannel. The tip of his nose brushes Castiel’s ear as he murmurs. “Now, was that so hard?” 

A different kind of heat flares through Castiel’s body, but he doesn’t move away. “You are _ridiculous,_ ” he grumbles.

“Yeah?” Dean smirks and wraps his arm around Castiel’s shoulders. “I think I’m adorable.”

* * *

Benny wakes up with a throbbing headache and a mouth dry as sawdust. Groaning, he checks the time and curses when he sees it’s past nine in the morning. Why the hell didn’t Cas wake him? He’s going to lose business if he doesn’t open soon.

He hustles downstairs, frowning as he spots the coffee pot still percolating on the camp stove, a clean, empty mug beside it. Cas started the day without coffee? Something truly apocalyptic must have happened.

Benny pulls up the rolling doors and gets the register going. Whatever’s going on with Cas, he doesn’t have time to worry about it now. He counts the bills in the drawer, sets up the card swiper, and is just setting out a couple new pieces when Cas appears in the doorway, looking extremely grumpy.

“Mornin,’ Hot Wings,” Benny says, eyebrows raised. “Where’d you run off to?”

Cas scowls and goes straight for the coffee. “Dean tricked me into attending the morning cast call,” he says grouchily, pouring a cup and dumping in a liberal amount of sugar. “Apparently he told his friend to tell me that he was jousting today. I was concerned, so I went to talk him out of it.” He takes a long sip, eyes closed.

“And?” Benny prompts.

“He made me stand up in front of everyone and the entire cast _applauded_ me.” Cas glares at nothing in particular as he takes another sip. “It was utterly humiliating.”

Benny can’t help chuckling as he pictures Dean and his fellow performers gleefully conspiring to embarrass the poor, unsuspecting doctor.

“It’s not funny,” Cas snaps.

“I’m gonna have to disagree with you on that, brother.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you and Dean came up with the idea last night.” Cas sets his mug down on the counter, a bit harder than necessary. “You know, since you’re apparently best friends now.”

Benny instantly sobers. Is Cas really that bothered by how well he and Dean were getting along? Without thinking, he reaches out and puts his hands on Cas’ shoulders. 

“Hey,” he says. “Look at me, cher.”

Cas’ eyes remain stubbornly fixed on the floor. Benny gives him a gentle shake, and Cas finally raises his eyes to Benny’s face. _Blue. So blue._ Benny swallows, pushing past the nervous buzzing in his belly.

“Dean’s a nice fella,” he says softly, “but he ain’t got nothing on you.”

Cas stares up at him. He’s only an inch or two shorter than Benny, but at this moment he seems much smaller, almost vulnerable. Benny wants nothing more than to fold him into an embrace and never let go.

“Sorry,” Cas mutters, his gaze flicking away. “I’m being an asshole.”

“Naw.”

“Yes, I am. You can be friends with whoever you want. I don’t own you.”

A shiver goes through Benny at those last words. _I wish you did,_ he thinks. _I wish I was yours. I want to belong to you._

“S’okay, brother,” he says aloud, and though it kills him to do it, he lets go of Cas’ shoulders and steps back. “You’re just lookin’ out for me. I appreciate it.”

“Hey.” Cas smiles tightly, still avoiding Benny’s eyes. “What are friends for?”

* * *

Castiel is going to _murder_ Dean. He doesn’t care how adorable he is. Ever since the cast call, performers have been stopping by their booth bearing all sorts of gifts for the brave doctor who rescued Sir Winchester. Some aren’t bad— a forest nymph presented him with a bouquet of wildflowers, while a couple of pirates dropped off a jug of ale— but most of them are _awful._

A minstrel serenades him with a sappy ballad. A troupe of actors perform a highly inaccurate reenactment of the joust, much to patrons’ amusement. Jesters recite commissioned poems, some of which have rather bawdy overtones, and whenever Castiel leaves the booth to use the restroom or just get away from the obnoxiousness, performers trail after him singing “Ode to the Blue-Eyed Man” or some other horrible tune they’ve invented.

Through it all, Benny has remained steadfastly quiet, but when Queen Charlie herself arrives at half past one, in full regalia, and grants Castiel the title of Grand Physician of the Realm, he finally breaks. He laughs so hard that tears stream down his face, and Castiel makes a silent vow never to help another human being again, even if they’re being trampled to death by a herd of buffalo.

At the end of the day, Dean finally shows up, mercifully without any performers in tow. From his broad smirk, however, he’s perfectly aware of the hell he has wrought upon Castiel’s life. 

“Heya Cas,” he calls. “Hey, Benny. How’s the day been?”

“Oh, you know,” Benny says, mouth twitching. “It’s hard work, serving under the Grand Physician, but I’ll survive somehow.”

“I hate you both,” Castiel growls as Dean doubles over laughing.

“Holy shit,” he gets out between giggles, slapping his thigh. “When Garth started playing ‘Dr. Feelgood’ on his ukulele, I fucking _lost_ it.”

“You really shouldn’t tease someone with easy access to weapons,” Castiel says, advancing on him.

Dean backs away, still giggling helplessly. “Help, Benny! Protect me.” He ducks behind Benny and peeks at Castiel over the blacksmith’s shoulder.

Benny looks at Castiel with an uncertain smile, like he’s not sure if this is okay, and Castiel feels a fresh wave of guilt for being so goddamn possessive. He forces himself to smile back and decides to play along with this ridiculous game, if only to reassure Benny that he’s not upset.

“You know, harboring a war criminal is treason, Mr. Lafitte,” he says, and Benny’s face relaxes. 

“Think I’ll take the risk, Grand Physician,” he replies, and takes a sheathed sword down from the wall. He brandishes it at Castiel, striking a ludicrous pose with his feet wide apart.

“Careful, dude, or you’re gonna flash us.” Dean laughs, nodding down at Benny’s kilt, which is riding up a little high on his thick legs.

Benny grins at Dean, and then does something completely unexpected. He fucking _winks_ at him. Holy shit. In all the years Castiel has known Benny, he’s _never_ seen him flirt so openly with another man. Could Dean be right? Is Benny not actually straight? What does it mean if he isn’t?

And if Dean’s right about that, what else is he right about?

* * *

Okay, Dean might be an idiot, but he’s also kind of a genius. Pulling that prank seems to have broken an invisible barrier between the three of them, and all the teasing and goofing around makes it easy for Dean to flirt with both guys equally without feeling like he’s intruding on their dynamic. He’s got a front-row seat to the pinefest now, and over the next couple weekends, he watches Benny and Cas interact.

It doesn’t take long to realize that he’s not the only one who’s an idiot.

The first thing Dean learns is that Benny is a complete pushover when it comes to Cas. He’s constantly doing things for him— making coffee, driving him into town, or fixing shit around the booth. He’ll also immediately drop whatever he’s doing to help Cas, even if it’s not urgent. It’s painful to watch, because Dean does the _exact same thing_ whenever he’s head over heels for somebody.

It’s also painful to watch because Cas is fucking _oblivious._ He genuinely doesn’t seem to realize how much he’s got Benny wrapped around his finger. He always looks so surprised and pleased when Benny does something nice, like he can’t believe anyone would give him that much attention. It’s both adorable and infuriating.

The way Cas shows appreciation for Benny is also infuriating. He constantly tells people how talented Benny is, points out pieces he worked especially hard on, gushes about how he fixed his car or found a great method for canning tomatoes, but he never seems to say those things _to_ Benny. It’s almost like he’s hoping Benny will just _know_ how much Cas admires him. 

To sum up, these jackasses are a textbook example of miscommunication, and by the fourth weekend of the fair, Dean decides to take drastic action.

* * *

“Hey, big guy!”

Benny looks up from soldering two pieces of iron to see Dean standing in the doorway, thumbs hooked through his belt loops, grinning at him. He’s wearing a green button-down shirt and dark-wash jeans that hug his hips in all the right places, and he looks good enough to eat.

Suddenly self-conscious of his sweaty, grubby state, Benny sets down his tools and pulls a rag out of his back pocket. “Evening, cher,” he says, wiping the grime off his face. “Where you goin’ all dressed up?”

Dean’s smile widens. “Got a hot date.” 

Benny feels a sinking sensation in his gut, which is strange. Sure, Dean’s handsome and charming and all, but he doesn’t have _feelings_ for the guy. Does he?

“Oh yeah?” he says, keeping his face carefully blank. “She cute?”

“He,” Dean corrects, sauntering down the steps into the yard. “And yeah, super cute. Really smart, too.”

Benny’s stomach turns to ice. Oh God. It’s Cas. Dean finally asked Cas out. Makes sense, since he’s been hanging around the shop so much these past few weekends. Fuck. And now Benny’s gonna have to act like he’s fine with it.

He swallows hard. “Well. You two have fun.”

Dean stares at him for a moment. Then he rolls his eyes.

“The date’s with _you_ , dumbass,” he says. “Go get cleaned up. You smell like a grease fire.”

* * *

 _It’s just one date,_ Benny tells himself as he washes soot and sweat off his body in the tiny camp shower. _Just one date. Ain’t like you’re marrying the guy._

He still feels guilty as he steps out of the shower and dries off. The guilt continues as he combs his hair, trims his beard, and puts together an outfit from his pitiful collection of clothes. It gnaws at him as he goes downstairs to find Dean sitting on the display case (even though Cas has told him half a dozen times not to.)

Dean’s face lights up when he sees Benny. A pink tinge appears on his cheeks. “You clean up good, man.” He shoots him a crooked grin. “I’m a little sad you didn’t wear the kilt, though.”

The flirting relaxes Benny. It’s familiar territory for them now, easy and safe. He returns Dean’s smirk. “Gotta leave some things to the imagination, cher.”

“Such a tease.” Dean hops down off the counter and fishes his keys out of his pocket. “So, I was thinking we could take Baby for a drive, then hit up a diner in town. Unless you have another idea?”

Benny shakes his head. “Sounds good to me. Been wanting to meet your special lady.”

Dean beams. “You will not be disappointed, I promise you that.” He bows low and gestures with a flourish. “After you, good sir.”

Benny shakes his head with amusement and opens the door. 

And comes face to face with Castiel, who’s standing on the other side.

“Cas,” he blurts out.

“Benny,” Cas stammers. “You… you look…” He blinks and squints, mouth slightly open. “You look like you’re going somewhere,” he finishes lamely.

“Yeah,” Benny says. His heart is pounding in his ears and his throat is closing up. “Me and Dean, we’re… uh, we’re just...”

“Benny’s been wanting to see Baby in action,” Dean says, casual as anything. “So we’re going for a drive. Wanna come?”

“Uh.” Cas fiddles with the edge of his shirt. “No, I… I was going to meet up with Charlie tonight, actually, so… you guys have fun.”

“Oh,” Dean says. Does he sound disappointed? Benny doesn’t know him well enough to tell. “Okay, well, say hi to her for me. We won’t be too long, probably grab a bite in town and be back by nine or so. If that’s cool.”

Cas stares at Dean for a long moment. “Of course it’s ‘cool,’” he says, using air quotes for the last word, which he only does when he’s being especially snarky or sarcastic. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Dean opens his mouth to answer, but Cas has already pushed past them and started climbing the stairs up to his room.

There’s an awkward pause. Dean glances at Benny, eyebrows raised. Benny flushes, wondering how to explain Cas’ odd behavior, but all Dean says is, “Ready to go?”

Benny hesitates. _Just one date,_ he reminds himself. _Just one._

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” he says, and follows Dean out the door.

* * *

Benny half-expects Dean to make a move on him as soon as they’re alone, but he doesn’t. Just walks beside him, hands in his pockets, and gives him a play-by-play of today’s joust, which included a funny bit where a minstrel tried to duel a knight using only a wooden spoon. Once they reach the parking lot, Dean introduces Baby like a father showing off his newborn child, and they spend nearly twenty minutes discussing paint jobs and hunting down old parts on eBay before they even get in the car.

Finally, Dean slides behind the wheel and starts the engine, which purrs beautifully, while Benny eases into the passenger seat and runs a hand reverently over the dashboard. They talk about restoration during the drive into town, the hunt for a parking spot, and the walk to Mickey’s Diner. It’s easy and fun, like talking to a friend. Which, Benny supposes, Dean is now.

Mickey’s is packed, since it’s one of the few places in Lebanon open on a Friday night. After learning that the wait time is over an hour, Dean suggests getting their food to go and driving out to the lake to eat it there. Benny thinks that’s a fine idea.

Dean rolls the windows down and plays Led Zeppelin at full blast as they fly down the county road, singing along at the top of his lungs and pounding out drum solos on the steering wheel, mostly to make Benny laugh, which he does. In some ways, he reflects, Dean is the exact opposite of Cas— carefree, easygoing, flirty, confident. But in others, he’s very much the same. They both have that instinct to protect, to take care of others, to do the right thing. They’re perfect for each other; it should be Cas in the passenger seat right now, not Benny.

With an effort, Benny pushes away those dark thoughts and tries to focus on having a good time. It’s shaping up to be a beautiful night, clear and cool instead of sticky and humid. At the very least he can enjoy the nice weather, food, and company.

Dean drives around until he finds a place to park near the water. Then he and Benny get out of the car and perch on Baby’s hood to eat their burgers. They’re greasy and thick, layered with tangy sauce and thick slices of onion, and for a while they don’t talk at all, just shovel food into their mouths with appreciative groans. The fries are a little soggy after traveling a few miles in a Styrofoam container, but they’re seasoned well.

And of course, there’s pie. Dean hadn’t been able to choose between strawberry rhubarb and pecan bourbon, so he got a slice of both. He’s currently halfway through the pecan, eyes closed in utter bliss. Benny tries not to notice the way his plush lips wrap around the plastic fork, but it’s hard to look away.

“I swear to God, I’m gonna find whoever makes this pie and marry them,” Dean declares with his mouth full.

“It’s probably a sixty-year-old grandma,” Benny jokes.

“Even better.” Dean grins around his pie. “She can be my sugar mama.”

“Got a thing for old biddies, do you?”

“Uh-huh.” Dean waggles his eyebrows. “Asked you out, didn’t I?”

“Oho.” Benny leans back and laughs. “That is a low blow, brother. I’m hurt.”

“Want me to kiss it better?”

“No.” Benny shakes his head, still chuckling. “I want my pie.”

“What pie?” Dean nudges the container away from Benny. “There’s no pie in here for you.”

“I distinctly recall ordering a slice of that pecan.”

“Nope.” Dean shakes his head. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

Benny gets up slowly, almost casually, and stands in front of Dean. Dean pauses with the fork halfway to his mouth and looks up at him, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Give me my pie, cher,” Benny murmurs.

Dean’s mouth quivers with amusement. “Come and get it.”

Heat flashes through Benny’s core, and with it an instinct to pin Dean flat on his back and wipe that cocky smile off his face. He moves closer, nearly touching Dean’s knees, and Dean’s eyes go slightly wide. Heart thudding in his ears, Benny places one hand on either side of Dean’s hips and leans forward, so close that their noses are nearly touching.

For a moment, neither of them breathes. Then Benny reaches behind Dean and drags the Styrofoam container out from its hiding place. He straightens up, smirking, and Dean makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a whimper.

Benny opens the container and grins when he sees the other slice of pecan nestled beside the strawberry rhubarb. “Well, would you look at that,” he drawls, sitting back down on the hood. “Guess they remembered mine after all.”

Dean sticks his bottom lip out, which is cute as fuck, but not cute enough to make Benny give up his pie. “Aw, don’t pout, sugar. You still got a whole piece left.”

“You’re a fucking _tease,_ ” Dean complains, folding his arms across his chest. “First no kilt, and now you steal my pie? I don’t think I like you anymore.”

“Shame. You’re awful cute when you’re mad.” Benny takes a huge bite of pie and lets out an exaggerated moan. “Mmmm. Damn, that’s good.” He finishes the slice and hands back the container, trying not to smile at the glare on Dean’s face.

Dean grabs the container and digs into his second slice, throwing Benny dirty looks every so often. Benny just grins at him and leans back on the hood, pleasantly full. The lake spreads out in front of them, still and calm, reflecting the moonlight like a mirror.

“So,” Dean says, after he’s finished the pie and cleaned off his sticky fingers with a napkin. “I’ve got a question for you.”

“Shoot,” Benny says, still gazing out at the lake.

Dean turns sideways so he’s facing him. “I’m wondering if I might have crossed a line, asking you out. Cas seemed kinda pissed at me.”

Benny winces, remembering the way Cas had snapped at Dean. “I don’t know, brother,” he says honestly. “Best I can figure, he’s feelin’ protective. I went through a pretty ugly divorce a few years back. Think he’s just worried about me getting hurt again.”

“You don’t think he’s…” Dean pauses, clears his throat. “Jealous?”

The word hangs between them, swaying dangerously like a tree branch in a storm. Benny’s stomach tightens, and he opens his mouth to say that’s crazy, there’s no way, Cas would have said something, he’s a friend, just a friend.

But what comes out instead is, “I don’t know.”

Dean nods, like that’s what he expected him to say. He shifts again, making the car creak softly. “You ever thought about asking him?”

Benny can’t quite believe this is happening. He’s sitting on a sexy muscle car in the moonlight with a hot guy he likes, really _likes_ , and they’re having a conversation about Cas. Even stranger than that, it seems like Dean actually wants to hear the answer to his question. He’s looking Benny square in the eyes, but there’s nothing angry or accusing about it. He just looks curious, and maybe a little sad.

“Wanted to,” Benny mumbles at last. “Never had the balls.”

Dean nods again, slowly, like he’s thinking it over. Then he gets up and stands in front of the car, hands on hips, a determined look on his face.

“I’m gonna be honest with you, Benny,” he says. “I like you. I think you’re awesome. Cas, too. You’re both great.” He spreads his hands, an open gesture. “But the last thing I wanna do is get between you and the person you really want. So if there’s even a chance that Cas feels the same way about you, I think you should take it.”

Benny shakes his head. “There isn’t.”

“How do you know?”

“I appreciate what you’re trying to do, Dean. Truly. But Cas and me, we… we just don’t fit. Not that way.”

“But how do you _know?_ ” Dean repeats, louder this time. “You’ve never tried. You’ve never even asked him how he feels.”

“Because I know what he’d say.”

“You have no idea what he’d say!” Dean’s agitated now, pacing back and forth. “You saw the look on his face tonight, Benny. He was _heartbroken._ You don’t look at friends like that. You just don’t.”

All of the walls Benny’s built over the years are rapidly starting to crumble. The hope he never allows himself to feel is shining through the cracks, tempting him. It’s terrifying.

“You’re wrong,” he whispers.

Dean stops pacing. Walks over, grips Benny’s shoulder hard. “Trust me,” he says. “I’m not.”

Benny stares at him. “You know something I don’t, cher?”

“It ain’t my place to say.” Dean takes his hand off Benny’s shoulder and steps away. “Just... talk to Cas. Please. I’ll drive you back.”

* * *

This is what hell must feel like. Being trapped inside your own head, unable to escape the constant replay of your worst memories. Castiel keeps drifting from one end of the festival grounds to the other; he can’t seem to stay in one place for more than a few minutes. He needs a distraction from the jealousy— yes, _jealousy,_ there’s no other explanation for the jumble of anger, disappointment and sadness boiling up in his chest— but he can’t seem to find one. 

He tries the medical tent first, since work is usually a good way to avoid real life, but Tessa doesn’t need any help. From there, he wanders aimlessly, feeling like a ghost among the warmly lit booths and laughing people. He briefly considers texting Charlie to ask if she wants to hang out (that way, he technically won’t have lied to Benny and Dean) but he knows she’ll insist on discussing his “boy problems,” which sounds about as appealing as a root canal. So he keeps walking back and forth along the fairgrounds, images of Benny riding in Dean’s car—or worse, riding _Dean—_ flashing through his mind like a horrible movie montage.

He wants to hit something. He wants to scream or maybe cry, run until his lungs and thighs are on fire. He wants to jerk off in Benny’s bunk, face buried in Benny’s pillow as he comes. He wants to bend Dean over the nearest flat surface and fuck him senseless. He wants both of them— no, he wants to be alone. He’s better alone. He feels everything too strongly, he’s violent and chaotic and demanding. Too much for Benny, too much for anyone.

Somehow he winds up back at their booth, even though he swore he wasn’t going to wait up for Benny like a fretting mother hen. Everything is a mess. Dirt and straw coat the floor, tracked in by patrons coming and going. The door leading to the yard is hanging open, tools and bits of metal scattered around the forge. Benny always cleans before he closes up shop, but apparently he was too busy getting ready for his _date_ to bother with that tonight.

Rage suddenly fills Castiel’s chest. He storms out into the yard and picks up an iron bar, relishing how heavy and solid it feels in his hands. There’s a loud, satisfying _thunk_ when he hits it against the fence. Vibrations travel up his arms, making his entire head buzz with the impact. He does it again, and again, reveling in the sting of rough metal against his palms, the ache in his shoulders.

Dimly he thinks he hears someone speaking, but he can’t be sure, because there’s a ringing in his ears and red fog clouding his vision. He keeps hitting the fence, not even really sure why he’s doing it anymore. He’s getting tired, but it seems important to keep going. He needs to finish this, he _needs_ to see that fucking rail split apart.

He lifts the bar for another swing, but something grabs his wrists and holds them in place. Something warm and gentle and impossibly strong.

“Let it go, cher,” a deep, familiar voice says. “Put it down.”

“Don’t!” The word tears out of Castiel’s throat, nearly a scream. He tries to wriggle free, but the hands just grip him tighter. “Get _away_ from me! Just get away!”

“Cas.” Benny’s voice is right next to his ear, and it sounds strange, choked. Is he crying? Why is he crying? “Cas, please. Put it down. You’re gonna hurt yourself, baby.”

Every word is low and soothing, but it’s the _baby_ that ultimately pulls Castiel out of the fog. Benny calls him a lot of things— doc, cher, Hot Wings, Angel Face— but not once has he _ever_ called him baby. It’s a tender, almost intimate word, and it breaks something inside of Castiel. Hot tears suddenly rush down his cheeks, clogging his eyes and ears and nose. He drops the bar and collapses against Benny’s chest, big breathless sobs wracking his entire body.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps. “I broke it, I broke it, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—”

Strong arms enfold him; instinctively he turns around and leans into Benny’s embrace, not even trying to hold back anymore. He’s done pretending.

“Hush.” Benny’s voice is nearly a whisper. “Hush, baby. It’s okay. Everything’s okay. I got you.”

Somehow they wind up kneeling in the dirt, Benny rocking him back and forth, Castiel clutching the front of his shirt, sobbing into his shoulder like a child.

“I’m sorry,” he keeps saying, not even sure what he’s apologizing for. “I’m sorry, I should have— I should have said something— I should have told you, should have told you a thousand times—”

“Told me what, cher?” Benny pulls back, tilts Castiel’s face up to meet his. He _has_ been crying, Castiel realizes. His nose is red and blotchy and his eyes are glistening with tears. “Told me what?”

“I love you,” Castiel says, and he’s shocked at how easily the words come out after so many years spent tamping them down. “I love you so much, Benny. I love you and I want to be with you. I don’t know what I’d do without you, and when I saw you with Dean, my heart broke and I didn’t know what to do, and I know that’s selfish and awful and I want you to be happy, but I can’t. I can’t stop myself from being jealous, and now it’s too late, it’s too late for—”

“It ain’t too late,” Benny interrupts. He cradles Castiel’s face in both hands, and his blue eyes are softer than Castiel’s ever seen them. “It’s ain’t too late, baby. I’m here. If you want me, I’m here. I’m yours.”

The words take a long time to reach Castiel. Everything feels muted and blurry, like he’s experiencing the world through a layer of cotton wool, but gradually the meaning starts to seep through. _Here. I’m here. Yours._

Castiel blinks once, twice, squinting up at Benny through swollen eyes. “Yours?” he repeats stupidly.

Benny’s face scrunches up into a thousand wrinkles as he smiles. “Yours,” he confirms, using his thumbs to wipe the tears off Castiel’s face. “I love you, Cas. More than anything else in this world.”

Castiel’s never felt less desirable in his entire life— he’s still half-crying, his nose is stuffed up, his hands are blistered, and his knees are stinging from where they hit the ground— but none of that matters, because Benny just said what he’s been wanting him to say for the past seven years. 

“You love me?” He hates how pathetic he sounds, but he needs to hear it again, needs to hear the words.

“Yeah, baby,” Benny whispers, stroking his hair. “I love you.”

Castiel takes a huge, quavery breath. Tears are still rolling down his cheeks and he’s starting to hiccup from crying, but inside he’s calm. Calmer than he’s been in some time. 

He clings to Benny’s broad shoulders for a while, inhaling the nice clean smell of him, until he stops shuddering and his breathing steadies. Benny doesn’t say anything more, just holds him, doing that slow rock back and forth. Finally Castiel lifts his head and looks up at his friend— his _boyfriend_ now, he supposes, and _oh,_ that sounds nice. He hopes Benny will let him call him that from now on. He wants that very much.

“I really want to kiss you right now,” Castiel tells him. “But I don’t want to do it with a face full of snot.”

Benny snorts a laugh. “Fair enough, sweet cheeks,” he says. “Let’s get you cleaned up. And I wanna take a look at your hands.”

“My hands are fine.”

“Still gonna look at ’em.”

Castiel grumbles under his breath, but he lets Benny help him to his feet. For a long moment they just stand together in the yard, hands joined, gazing at each other with shy smiles, like they’re meeting for the first time.

Maybe they are, in a way.

“I love you,” Castiel says, snaking his arms around Benny’s neck. “I know I already said it, but I don’t care.”

Benny grins back, soft and lazy, and slips his hands over Castiel’s hips. “Say it as much as you want, honey,” he says. “Never gonna get tired of hearing it.” He squeezes Castiel’s hips gently, and Castiel feels a thrill at the strength in those hands. “Let’s go inside.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t blame you at all,” Cas says. “If Dean had asked me out, I wouldn’t be able to resist either.”
> 
> Benny’s face relaxes. “He is pretty cute,” he says slowly, making it sound almost like a question. Like he’s asking permission.
> 
> “Yes.” Castiel gives him a reassuring smile and shifts closer, wrapping his arms around Benny’s neck. “Yes, he is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: NSFW art in this chapter. Viewer discretion advised ;)

Tonight has been completely surreal, Benny thinks as he sits Cas down on the bunk and kneels down next to him. There’s a tiny part of him that suspects it might all be a dream, but as he takes Cas’ hands and feels their warm, solid shape, he knows it’s not. Cas is _here_ , with him, looking just as dazed and happy as Benny feels. He’s real. This is real.

Benny nudges Cas’ knees apart so he can fit between them and turns Cas’ hands over. The palms are red and blistered, and Benny’s heart breaks a little knowing how upset Cas must have been to do something like that. The hurt and rage on his friend’s face is something Benny never wants to see again.

“These don’t look so good, cher,” he murmurs, stroking Cas’ palms with his thumbs, careful to avoid the injured areas.

“It’s just a few blisters,” Cas says, trying to pull away, but Benny doesn’t let go.

“Please,” he says, craning his neck so he can look into Cas’ face. “Please, baby. Just let me do this.”

Cas looks like he’s about to argue, but then he sighs and his hands go limp. “If you must.”

Hiding a smile, Benny opens the first aid kit and applies ointment to Cas’ hands, stopping every time Cas winces or hisses with pain. Then he wraps long, thin strips of gauze around them, the same way Cas does whenever Benny gets cut or burned, and anchors them with white surgical tape. He makes Cas swallow a couple of painkillers while he puts everything away, then sits down beside him on the bunk. After a moment’s hesitation, he puts a hand on Cas’ back and starts rubbing in slow circles. Cas lets him.

“You didn’t need to do that,” he says into the silence.

“I know,” Benny replies. Cautiously he places his other hand on Cas’ thigh, and quietly rejoices when Cas doesn’t move away.

“I don’t need anyone to take care of me.”

“No, you don’t,” Benny agrees. “You’re a tough son of a bitch and you don’t need help from nobody.” He squeezes Cas’ thigh gently. “But sometimes it’s nice to let someone else share the load. You did it for me, lotsa times.”

Cas leans heavily against Benny’s side. “Will you please stop being rational?” he grumbles. “It’s very annoying.”

Benny chuckles. “I’ll do my best.”

“You always do,” Cas murmurs. Then he reaches up, cups Benny’s cheek, and pulls him into a kiss.

Benny’s kissed plenty of people in his life, women and men alike, but nothing could have prepared him for kissing Castiel. Cas kisses with a purpose and force that Benny’s never felt before, and he loves it instantly. Loves the way Cas’ tongue licks into his mouth, the way he squeezes the back of Benny’s neck, hauling him closer, practically manhandling him. Benny gives himself over to it, melting into the kiss and moaning low in his throat. The sound seems to trigger something in Cas, because he suddenly shifts on the bed, throws a leg over Benny’s lap, and straddles him.

Benny sucks in his breath and Cas instantly goes still. “Are you okay?” he asks. “You want me to stop? Slow down?”

“Fuck no.” Benny grabs the backs of Cas’ thighs and yanks him closer, groaning as he feels the hard bulge of Cas’ cock against his own. “Don’t stop, and don’t slow down, neither. Been waiting a long time for you, baby.”

Cas growls, honest-to-God _growls_ , before surging forward and sucking a bruise into Benny’s neck. He’s being claimed, Benny thinks wildly, claimed and marked up like a piece of property. The thought makes him hot all over and he relaxes even more, yielding to Cas, because there is nothing better in the world than surrendering to this beautiful hurricane of a man. Cas bites and nips his tender skin, sending jolts of pleasure-pain up Benny’s spine, and he closes his eyes, basking in the feeling of being taken, used, _owned_.

“The lube,” Cas pants into his ear. “In your truck. That’s for you, right? When you’re thinking about me?”

“Yeah,” Benny moans. “Always thinking about you. Drive me so crazy, gotta take the edge off.”

“Fuck.” Cas finds the edge of Benny’s shirt and yanks it off in one fluid motion, then starts working his way downwards, planting open-mouthed kisses along Benny’s collarbone. “You’ve been jerking off in your truck. You’ve been sneaking off to touch yourself. Because of me.”

“Uh-huh.” Benny gasps as Cas bites into the meat of his shoulder.

“What do you think about?” Cas’ hands are roaming lower, exploring Benny’s ribs, the small of his back. “Do you think about this? You think about me riding you, sucking you off, making you come?”

“Think about—” Benny gasps as Cas rolls his hips, bright hot friction sending delicious shivers through his groin. “Think about you fucking me, havin’ your cock inside me.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Cas hisses, pausing to rest his forehead on Benny’s shoulder. “You big, strong, beautiful man. You’d let me do that to you? You’d let me open you up and fingerfuck you and stuff you full of my cock?”

Benny lets out a strangled whine. The image of Cas doing that to him is so vivid he can hardly stand it. He can’t even speak, just nods frantically and buries his face in Cas’ neck, arching his hips and grinding upwards.

“Oh sweetheart,” Cas murmurs, and the tenderness in his low, rasping voice turns Benny’s insides into mush. “I’m gonna make you feel so good.”

* * *

It’s strange how quickly hell can transform into heaven, Castiel thinks as he lays Benny out on the narrow bunk, feasting on the sight of his naked torso. He’s seen Benny shirtless plenty of times, but never more than a quick glance. Now he can take his time, notice all the little details that make up the man he loves.

Benny has a farmer’s tan, his arms and neck darker than the rest of him. A soft-looking patch of ginger fuzz blankets his chest and two little love handles sit just above his hips, perfect for holding onto. His nipples are pale pink, puckering in the cool air; Castiel wants to get his mouth on them, tug at them with his teeth until they’re red and swollen. One of Benny’s arms rests above his head, revealing a dark swirl of hair, and Castiel has a sudden urge to lick him there, to taste that delicious musky scent that’s tortured him for so long. He pushes it aside, reminding himself that they can talk about all their weird kinks and secret desires later. Right now, he just needs to get Benny naked.

“Can I take these off?” he asks, hooking a finger into the waistband of Benny’s jeans. 

“Long as you take yours off, too.” Benny’s eyes are dark with arousal as he stares up at him.

“I’m planning on it.” Castiel leans forward and seals his mouth over Benny’s, humming with satisfaction at how nice his beard feels against his skin. Benny tastes heavenly, like sweet smoky onions and salted caramel, his lips wonderfully soft and warm. Blindly he undoes Benny’s jeans, slips his fingers into the space between denim and warm skin, and pulls down until Benny’s hard, hot cock springs free and brushes against his thigh.

“Oh,” Castiel says, the word coming out in a breathy gasp. “You’re _hard_ for me, Benny. So hard.” Benny lets out a strangled moan, and Castiel abandons his mouth and squirms further down the bed for a closer look.

Benny’s cock is thick, round and fat like a Coke can, flushed dark red and glistening at the tip. His thick muscled thighs, covered in the same ginger hair as his chest, are splayed open on the bed, giving Castiel a clear view of his heavy balls and fuzzy crack. One huge hand is resting on his abdomen, the other curled loosely around that lovely big cock. Possessive heat flares in Castiel’s chest, and he shoves Benny’s hand away to wrap his own hand around it. He doesn’t stroke, not yet; instead he squeezes lightly, feeling the thickness and weight of the shaft. 

“Mine,” he growls. “All mine.”

Benny’s cock throbs against his palm. “Yours,” he says, sounding completely wrecked. “I’m all yours, baby.”

“I want to suck you off,” Castiel informs him. “How does that sound?”

Benny groans. “Sounds fuckin’ fantastic.” He kicks feebly, trying to free himself from the bunched-up jeans and boxers looped around his feet.

“Leave it,” Castiel says, pushing Benny back against the mattress. “I’ve got you.”

Quickly he unlaces Benny’s boots and tosses them on the floor, tugs off Benny’s pants, then stands up and begins to strip. Benny watches him with rapt attention, his eyes traveling over Castiel’s naked shoulders and chest.

“So damn gorgeous,” he murmurs. “Can’t tell you how many times I wanted you, just like this.”

Castiel pauses in undoing his jeans, a sudden ache behind his ribs. “I wish,” he says, and his voice wobbles, just a little. “I wish we hadn’t waited so long.”

“Hey.” Benny sits up and slides his hands around Castiel’s waist, looking up at him earnestly. “Don’t go thinking like that. We’re here now. We made it.” He tips his head forward and presses a kiss to Castiel’s stomach.

The tender gesture makes Castiel melt inside, and he buries both hands in Benny’s thick hair, raking his fingers through it. Benny hums contentedly and keeps kissing his stomach, his chest, anywhere within reach. When he reaches his ribs, Castiel flinches and lets out a breathless laugh. “Your beard tickles.”

He feels Benny smile against his skin. “Is that good or bad?”

“Good.” Castiel tugs gently on Benny’s hair, tilting his face up. “Everything about this is good.” He kisses Benny again, long and deep, until they both pull away gasping for breath.

“Lie down,” Castiel pants, “so I can give you the best blowjob of your life.”

Benny instantly flops back against the mattress. “Love it when you’re bossy,” he says, grinning.

“Well.” Castiel smirks. “In that case—” He grabs the pillow off his own bunk and tosses it on the floor so he’ll have something soft to kneel on, then slaps Benny’s thigh. “Legs up,” he orders. “And put a pillow behind your head. I want you to see everything I’m doing to you.”

“Jesus,” Benny breathes. He shifts downward so his buttocks line up with the edge of the bed, bends his knees, and braces his feet against the mattress. “How’s that?”

“Perfect.” Castiel shucks off his jeans and sinks to his knees. “You look so good.” He kisses the thick, muscled curve of Benny’s calf. “Are you watching, sweetheart?”

“Uh-huh.” Benny’s got his head propped up with a pillow, looking down at him through the vee of his legs.

“Good.” Castiel grips the base of Benny’s cock. “Keep your eyes on me.” Slowly he leans forward, stretches his mouth around Benny’s girth, and swallows him down in one go.

“Fuck,” Benny gasps. His hands clench in the sheets, trembling. “ _Cas_.”

A heady rush sweeps over Castiel at the sound of his name. Benny’s completely at his mercy, open, exposed, trusting; Castiel can’t wait to make him fall apart and be the one who puts him back together. He sucks up and down Benny’s length, moaning at how good it feels. It’s been too long since he’s done this, pressed his face into the dark musky scent of another man’s groin, felt the wiry scrape of pubic hair against his nose, firm spongey heat filling his mouth and nudging the back of his throat.

“Fuck,” Benny whimpers. “Baby, you look so good. Take such good care of me.” His cock pulses, and precome spurts over Castiel’s tongue. He moans again and licks into the slit, chasing that salty taste, and Benny keens, slamming his head back against the pillow. “Jesus _fuck_.”

Castiel pulls off with an obscenely wet pop. “Look at me,” he commands. Benny’s eyes flutter open and he stares at Castiel, chest heaving. Slowly, delicately, Castiel licks the head of his cock, swirling his tongue around the crown, watching Benny’s face turn redder and redder as he teases him. 

“My big strong man,” Castiel murmurs. He kisses the head of Benny’s cock, feeling it twitch under his touch. “I love watching you fall apart. I could watch you for hours and never get tired of seeing you blush.”

“Cas,” Benny chokes out. “You’re killin’ me, baby.”

Castiel takes pity on him and resumes sucking, looking up at Benny through his eyelashes. Benny watches him as though hypnotized, breath coming in ragged pants, his eyes glazing over. Castiel relaxes his throat and takes Benny’s cock in deeper, nearly choking on it. Benny curses and arches his back, huge hands balled into fists, thighs trembling. Spit and precome build up in Castiel’s mouth, and he lets it run down his chin and wrist, heedless of the bandage on his hand. Sweat beads at his temples and trickles between his shoulder blades, but he doesn’t stop, just keeps moving up and down Benny’s hard, smooth cock, enjoying the mess they’re making together.

“Fuck,” Benny gasps suddenly. “I’m gonna come.” Castiel ignores the warning and tightens his lips around Benny’s cock. His boyfriend’s hips jerk once, twice, and then Castiel’s mouth fills with a thick load of creamy spunk. He swallows it down with a satisfied hum and lets Benny’s softening cock slide out from between his lips.

Benny sinks back against the mattress, puffing like a freight train while Castiel gets to his feet. His own cock is achingly hard, and when he finally wraps a hand around his length and starts stroking, he lets out a gasp of relief. He throws his head back, groaning softly, jacking himself fast and tight through his fist, his free hand pressed against the wall for balance.

After a minute or two, he looks down and sees Benny watching him. Benny’s mouth is slack, his gaze hooded as he stares at Castiel’s cock. Castiel moans and works himself faster, the fresh arousal in Benny’s eyes turning him on even more.

“Look so good, cher,” Benny murmurs, shifting forward and licking his lips. “Such a pretty cock.”

Castiel moans again and rolls his hips, the tip of his dick nearly touching Benny’s mouth. “Close,” he grits out. “I’m so close. Can I come on you?”

“Yeah,” Benny breathes. “Come on my face, baby.”

Castiel jerks his cock until his toes curl and his balls tighten, and then he’s coming, waves of heat rippling through his body, pumping his release all over Benny’s upturned face. Ribbons of white paint his cheeks and nose and eyelashes, and when Benny flicks his tongue out for a taste, Castiel’s knees go weak.

He leans against the wall, trying to catch his breath, but Benny grabs his hips and pulls him forward. “Hey,” he says, looking up at Castiel with a dopey grin. “Get your cute ass over here.”

Castiel smiles down at him, brushing a strand of sweat-damp hair from Benny’s forehead. “In a minute,” he says. “I need to clean you up.”

“Good idea,” Benny says, releasing him. “I’m a dirty boy.”

Castiel snorts with laughter and goes into the small bathroom to wet a washcloth. When he comes back, Benny is stretched out on the bunk, arms folded behind his head, goofy grin still in place. Castiel grins back at him and crawls onto the bunk. It’s a tight fit, but he manages to squish himself between Benny and the wall. Gently he wipes off Benny’s face, then snuggles close, head cradled in the crook of his arm.

“That was fuckin’ amazing,” Benny says, kissing his forehead.

“It was.” Castiel nuzzles Benny’s neck, breathing in the smell of musky sweat. “Good to know I’ve still got it.”

Benny chuckles. “You definitely still got it, cher. Never come so hard in my life.”

Pride washes over him and he smiles into Benny’s shoulder. “You’re very good for my ego.”

“You’re very good for my cock,” Benny says without missing a beat, and both of them crack up. 

Once the post-orgasmic giggles die down, they’re both quiet for a while, but it’s a comfortable quiet. It feels no different from moments in front of the fire in winter, or on the porch in summer, except for one thing. The best, most important thing. Benny’s arm is wrapped around Castiel’s shoulders, hugging him close, and he’s holding Castiel’s hand to his chest. Every so often he lifts it up and kisses Castiel’s fingertips one by one, and Castiel is so full of happiness that he might just float away.

“I’m curious,” he says after a while. “Have you always liked men? Or am I a special case?”

Benny hums, like he’s thinking about it. “I’ll be honest, cher. You ain’t the first man I’ve ever looked at.” He pauses. “But you’re the first one I couldn’t look away from.”

Castiel feels himself blushing. “That is revoltingly sappy,” he says. “You should write ballads.”

He feels Benny chuckle. “I think Dean’s commissioned enough ballads for the both of us.”

“Oh my God.” Sudden panic sweeps over Castiel. “Dean!” He sits up, Benny’s hand falling off his shoulder. “What happened to Dean? You didn’t _ditch_ him, did you?”

“Course not,” Benny says, sounding mildly insulted. “We got dinner, we drove out to the lake, and we talked for a while. Nothing else.” He pauses. “He’s pretty worried that you’re mad at him, though.”

“Oh.” Cas swallows. “I mean, I _was_ upset. But not with him.”

“You might wanna tell him that, next time you see him,” Benny says. There’s no accusation in his voice, but Castiel still cringes. “He thinks he crossed a line.”

“Damn it.” Castiel flops back down and puts a hand over his eyes. “I didn’t mean to snap at him. I was upset about the situation, not because of him. Poor Dean.”

“Huh.” There’s a hint of amusement in Benny’s tone. “Interesting.”

“What?”

“You ain’t jealous that he asked me out instead of you?”

A pause. 

“Well, I am _now_ ,” Castiel says, indignant.

“Hey, don’t take it personal, cher.” Benny smirks. “I _am_ the better looking of the two of us.” 

“Oh, shut up.” Castiel slaps his arm lightly. “Seriously. Why _did_ he ask you and not me?”

“Don’t know.” Benny shrugs, pulling Castiel close to him again. “I think he suspected you had feelings for me. Kept saying I should talk to you. Then he drove me back here and told me to go big or go home.” He smiles. “So I went big.”

Castiel thinks back to the conversation he’d had with Dean all those weeks ago, over turkey legs and shepherd’s pie. The feigned casualness when Dean asked if Benny could fix his armor. The prank he’d pulled on Castiel. The way he’d flirted with both of them, dropping hints about what great guys they both are, how skilled, how cute, how funny...

“That little shit,” he breathes. “He did it on purpose.”

“Did what?”

“Asked you out. To make me jealous.” Castiel smacks his forehead. “He’s been trying to get us together this whole time.”

“You sure?” Benny sounds skeptical.

“Positive. I…” Castiel hesitates, then decides he might as well be completely honest. “I may have told him about my… unrequited feelings. A few weeks ago.”

“You—” It’s Benny’s turn to sit up. “You _told_ him that?”

“Yes.” Castiel cringes. “It was right after I met him. He thought you and I were a couple, and I… just sort of confessed everything.”

“So that whole date was just a sham?” Benny shakes his head. “That sneaky son of a bitch. I oughta kick his ass.”

“Now who’s jealous?” Castiel teases.

“I ain’t jealous,” Benny protests. “It’s just kinda insulting. All that flirtin’ for nothing.” 

“Flirting?” Castiel raises his eyebrows. “You were _flirting_ with him, Benjamin?”

“Uh.” Benny’s face is rapidly turning red. “I… it’s just kinda what you do on a date, y’know? And _he_ was bein’ all flirty, so I just... sorta fell into it. But it didn’t mean nothin’, Cas. I swear.”

He looks so uncomfortable that Castiel feels bad for trying to tease him. “I’m not upset, Benny,” he says gently. “I don’t blame you at all. If Dean had asked _me_ out, I wouldn’t be able to resist either.”

Benny risks a glance at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Castiel grins. “You can’t possibly say no to that cute little pout.”

Benny’s face relaxes. “He _is_ pretty cute,” he says slowly, making it sound almost like a question. Like he’s asking permission.

“Yes.” Castiel gives him a reassuring smile and shifts closer, wrapping his arms around Benny’s neck. “Yes, he is.”

* * *

After dropping Benny off, Dean drives back to the highway. The pie from earlier is now a cold, heavy lump in his stomach, and he tries not to think about it too much, because otherwise he might throw up.

Tonight was not supposed to go like this. Tonight was supposed to be about motivating Cas and Benny to tell each other how they feel, nothing more. But then Benny had to be all sweet and adorable and sexy (that little stunt with the pie almost made Dean pop a partial in his jeans) and now Dean is super, super screwed. Bad enough that he’s nursing a major crush on Cas, but now he has to go and fall for Benny too? Fuck his life.

He drives long enough for _Zepp IV_ to play all the way through twice, then makes himself turn around and head back to the fairgrounds. He feels twitchy, unable to settle, and arousal is still simmering under his skin. It’s the kind of burn that only a good fight or a good fuck can soothe, but he’s not going to find anyone willing to spar at this hour. He can probably find someone to fuck (all he has to do is text Gabriel and the pervy little bastard will instantly find him a hookup) but deep down he knows that won’t scratch the itch he feels in his bones.

Dean’s been with women, men, a couple of trans and nonbinary folks, all in various stages of casual and not-so-casual, but until now, he’s never thought of himself as poly. He can barely maintain _one_ semi-functional relationship at a time; no way could he handle more than that. More importantly, he’s never felt the urge. Until now.

How great would it be if Benny and Cas felt the same way about him? Two of the best guys he’s ever met, letting him be part of whatever it is that they’re building. Not having to be on the outside anymore. Being able to kiss and touch them both. Sleep between them. Come home to them. _Fuck_. He’s never wanted anything more in his entire life. It scares him a little, just how badly he wants that. 

But real life never works out the way you want it to. Dean knows that, knows that the second you start making plans, something comes along to fuck them up. So he tries not to make plans, or at least tries not to hope too much, because if he doesn’t count on things working out, he’ll be pleasantly surprised if they do and totally unsurprised if they don’t. 

He parks in the grassy, bumpy lot and turns off the engine. Then he gets out and starts plodding down the dark path to his trailer. It’s as good a place to get drunk as any.

* * *

Dean blunders through Saturday in a haze, and on Sunday morning he barely makes it to the cast call on time. He stumbles into the auditorium at one minute to nine, and Charlie gives him a judgmental look as he collapses next to her.

“Cutting it a little close, dude,” she mutters.

“Rough night,” Dean mutters back.

“Smells like it.” Charlie digs around in her purse and fishes out a tube of breath mints. She hands it to Dean, then faces front as the director starts talking. It’s the usual crap about who’s performing, what events are happening throughout the day, how to handle unruly patrons, blah blah blah. Dean tunes out most of it, sucking absently on the mint in his mouth and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

Suddenly, Charlie pokes him in the ribs. “Ow,” Dean yelps. “What the hell, Charles?”

Charlie says nothing, just points. Confused, Dean follows the line of her finger, and when he sees who’s onstage, he is suddenly _wide_ awake.

Cas and Benny are standing up there, holding hands and beaming at each other. Oh fuck. _Fuck_ Dean’s life. Why do they have to rub their happiness in everyone’s faces? So fucking rude.

“...something we never thought we could have,” Cas is saying. “And we’d like to thank the man who made it possible.” He turns to someone behind him. “With the help of a very talented minstrel.”

It’s Garth. Fucking Garth is onstage with his fucking ukelele and he’s going to fucking sing a song about how Cas and Benny fell in love. And Dean’s going to be in it. Fuck. He’s got to get out of here. This is too goddamn humiliating.

He starts to stand, but Charlie grabs his arm. “Wait,” she hisses.

“I am not sitting through this,” Dean hisses back. “I fucking _can’t_ , Charlie.”

“Just wait,” she repeats. “I promise it’ll be worth it.”

He glares at her, then slumps back down on the bench, head buried in his hands. Charlie pats his back in what’s probably supposed to be a comforting gesture.

Onstage, Garth is strumming his ukulele while Cas and Benny sing. Actually, _singing_ is kind of a stretch; they’re really just reading lines from a notebook while Garth attempts to make them sound halfway decent. Dean keeps his face covered, but he can’t block out the words.

> _We’ve been best friends for seven years_
> 
> _Which is why it’s so ironic_
> 
> _That way deep down, we always longed_
> 
> _For something less platonic_
> 
> _Time passed us by so quickly_
> 
> _We both thought it was too late_
> 
> _Then a handsome knight, with eyes so green_
> 
> _Helped us change our fate_
> 
> _He was tall and strong and oh so fair_
> 
> _We both had such a crush_
> 
> _Every time he flashed that grin_
> 
> _Our insides turned to mush_

Cautiously, Dean raises his head. Oh fuck. Cas and Benny are walking down the center aisle, both with shit-eating grins on their faces. Garth is following them, playing an interlude as the two motherfuckers stop right next to Dean’s bench. Dean’s face is bright red, and his ears are so hot that he’s afraid they might actually burn off. He stares up at Cas and Benny with a mixture of horror, homicidal rage, and maybe a tiny bit of admiration because they are giving this thing their fucking _all_ , even though it’s gotta be almost as humiliating for them as it is for Dean.

> _He was very sly and crafty_
> 
> _When he visited our booth_
> 
> _And gave us each a little nudge_
> 
> _To tell our friend the truth_
> 
> _Now we’re both so very happy_
> 
> _It’s all because of you_
> 
> _And so, Sir Dean of Winchester_
> 
> _Can we make you happy, too?_
> 
> _You’re so good and brave and kind_
> 
> _You really are the best_
> 
> _So if you’d like to ask us out_
> 
> _We’d definitely say yes!_

Benny and Cas both draw out the last line until their voices crack, and even before they’ve finished, the entire crowd erupts into cheers and hollers and catcalls, stomping their feet, whistling, and clapping their hands. It’s louder than the student section at a football game. 

Cas is laughing harder than Dean’s ever seen him, and the brightness of Benny’s smile could power a fucking nuclear plant. Dean can’t help grinning back, even though he also kinda wants to die from embarrassment. Then Charlie pushes him so hard that he nearly falls off the bench, and finally Dean stands up, knees wobbling, to pull both Cas and Benny into a hug.

* * *

“You assholes,” Dean gasps as Cas pushes him against the booth’s wall and jams a leg between his thighs. “You sons of bitches. I can’t _believe_ you did that.”

“You know what happens when you play with fire, Dean,” Cas says, his blue eyes sparkling with something dark and dangerous. “You get burned.”

He yanks Dean away from the wall and spins him around, right into Benny’s waiting arms. Arousal flares through Dean’s gut, hot and electric, as Benny pulls him into a searing kiss. His beard is soft and a little ticklish, his lips soft and plush, and the tender way he cradles Dean’s face in his huge hands makes Dean melt like heated metal.

Dimly, he feels Cas come up behind him and wrap two surprisingly strong arms around his waist. Dean gasps as Cas’ mouth latches onto his collarbone and starts sucking hard, creating a sharp point of pleasure within the softness of Benny’s kiss. Dean tilts his head to give Cas more access, and Cas obliges by biting the thick cord of muscle along his neck, worrying at the skin there and sending Dean into absolute bliss. He moans into Benny’s mouth, clutching the front of his henley, not knowing where to put his hands, just knowing that he needs to get Benny closer. He wants Cas closer, too; he needs to wrap himself up in both of them and never let go.

After a few minutes, or maybe hours, Benny breaks their kiss and pulls away, shoulders heaving. Dean opens his mouth to protest, but then Benny turns him around, and suddenly Dean’s staring into a second pair of gorgeous blue eyes.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says, voice deep and rough, and Dean tries to think of a flirty comeback, but his brain doesn’t really seem to be working right now.

“Hi,” he says, breathless. Cas smiles, his hands trailing down Dean’s arms until they come to rest at his hips.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, and Dean nods eagerly. Cas’ smile widens, and then his lips are on Dean’s, rougher than Benny’s but just as warm. Dean likes it a lot, and he likes it even better when Benny crowds in behind him and presses his hard bulge against Dean’s ass. Dean moans and angles his hips back, rubbing himself against Benny’s cock, imagining what it might feel like bare between his thighs. He can feel Cas’ cock too, pressing into the crease of his hip, and it takes all of Dean’s self-control not to start humping him like a dog in heat.

“Dean,” Cas sighs against his mouth. _“Fuck,_ Dean. You’re perfect.” He nips Dean’s bottom lip, then soothes the sting with his tongue, hands roaming all over, squeezing and caressing every inch of Dean he can reach.

“Jesus Christ,” Dean chokes out. “You guys are really serious, huh? You really want this.”

“We talked about it yesterday,” Benny’s voice rumbles in his ear. “How much we like you. How much we wanna fuck you.”

“We would never joke about this, Dean,” Cas says. “But if you want us to stop at any point, just say the word.”

“Holy fuck,” Dean says weakly as Cas starts undoing the button on his jeans. “And you wanna… you wanna date me too?”

“Oh, yes.” Cas yanks down Dean’s jeans and underwear in an almost businesslike fashion, and that shouldn’t be so hot, but it _really_ fucking is. “We want to date you, and if that goes well, we’d love to try a relationship, too. But right now—” Cas sinks to his knees, eyes dark and hooded, licking his lips as he takes in the sight of Dean’s erection. “Right now, we just want to fuck you silly.”

Dean lets out a strangled noise that might be words or just a nonsense sound, but it must be enough because Cas smirks, reaches into his back pocket, and pulls out a condom. Still gazing hungrily at Dean’s hard cock, Cas tears open the foil packet and rolls the condom onto Dean’s length, then immediately leans forward and swallows him down, his beautiful mouth stretching around the shaft.

“Oh _shit_.” Dean gasps and leans heavily against Benny, who takes his weight like it’s nothing. “This is happening, this is really fucking happening.”

“Bet your sweet ass,” Benny purrs in his ear, and then Dean feels something warm and wet trailing down the curve of his buttocks. He barely has time to blink before Benny’s thick fingers are spreading him open, and as soon as he realizes what Benny’s doing, Dean groans and moves his legs as far apart as he can.

“Yes,” he whimpers. “Oh fuck yes.” Cas is going to town on his cock, slurping and sucking and licking, and Benny’s finger is probing at his entrance, teasing his pucker with light touches, making Dean keen and arch backwards, trying to get more pressure. “More,” he gasps, “more. _Please_.”

“Yeah,” Benny says hoarsely, “yeah.” He eases one spit-slick finger in, and Dean makes himself relax, easing the way so Benny can go deeper. He does, and soon a second finger joins the first, stretching and tugging on Dean’s rim, just a little. He moans and tries to widen his stance even more, but his stupid pants are still tangled around his ankles. 

Abruptly, Cas pops off Dean’s cock, and Dean absolutely does not whine, no he does _not_. “We should go upstairs.”

“Bed ain’t big enough for three,” Benny says, sounding breathless.

“We’ll improvise.” Cas stands up and kisses Dean, long and lingering. “His legs are going to give out if he keeps standing.”

“Fair enough. C’mon, cher, let’s get you upstairs.” Without warning, Benny squats down and lifts Dean clean off the floor.

“Gah!” Dean lets out a yelp of surprise. “You—you—” Benny actually slings him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and starts towards the stairs. “You are _really_ strong,” he gasps, not even caring how flustered he sounds. A big, burly hunk of blacksmith is carrying him up a flight of stairs; he’s entitled to be flustered.

“Watch your head, cher,” Benny says, chuckling as they enter the small upstairs room. He reaches up and gives Dean’s naked ass a playful slap, which makes Dean yelp again.

“You spanked me,” he says, equal parts delighted and embarrassed.

“I did,” Benny says, amused. “And I’ll do it again if you don’t behave.”

Dean squirms, trying to get free, but Benny’s arms are like iron bands and it’s hopeless. He settles for pounding on Benny’s back with his fists. “Put me down,” he orders, but Benny just smacks his ass again. It feels so good that Dean lets out a happy groan, cock throbbing deliciously between his legs.

“Well, he’s definitely a brat,” Cas says as Benny deposits Dean onto one of their bunks. “But at least he’s cute.”

“The cutest,” Benny agrees, pressing a kiss to Cas’ mouth.

“Yeah, I’m pretty adorable.” Dean kicks his pants off the rest of the way and grins up at them. “So. How are we gonna do this?”

“You,” Cas says with a predatory smile, _“_ are going to finish getting naked. Then you’re going to sit on Benny’s lap and ride his cock until you both come. And I’m going to watch. Does that sound agreeable?”

White hot arousal floods Dean’s body. “Holy shit,” he whispers. “I hit the goddamn jackpot.”

Benny laughs, low and husky. “Oh darlin’,” he says, “you have no idea.”

* * *

The expression on Dean’s face as he rides Benny’s cock is one of the hottest things Cas has ever seen— eyes screwed shut, mouth hanging open, a mix of shock and ecstasy playing across his features. 

“How does it feel, baby?” Cas murmurs, placing his hands on Dean’s thighs, rubbing small circles with his thumbs. “Are you getting nice and stretched? You like how that big cock fills you up?”

“Fuck,” Dean chokes out, leaning back against Benny’s broad chest, tipping his head back on the man’s shoulder. “So fucking good, so _full_ , I— _unnnngh_.”

Benny takes Dean’s hands in his own and kisses him sweetly on the mouth. “Want me to move, cher?”

“Uh-huh,” Dean practically whimpers as he shifts in Benny’s lap. “Please fuck me, fill me up, I need you—“

Benny thrusts up hard and fast, thighs slapping rhythmically against Dean’s asscheeks. Dean is a thing of beauty— lips parted, the long column of his neck exposed, sweat gathered at his temples, dark red flush spread all the way down to his sternum. His legs are spread as far as they’ll go, one knee hooked over each of Benny’s thighs, and he’s so loose and open, letting Benny fuck up into him without a hint of resistance.

“You look so good, Dean,” Cas praises, stroking his own dick in time with Benny’s thrusts. “So pretty bouncing on that big cock. How does he feel, Benny?”

“So good,” Benny rasps, pressing his forehead between Dean’s shoulder blades. “So fucking tight, so hot, feels so good on my dick.”

Dean lets out a sound that’s nearly a sob, his hips working frantically, cock slapping against his stomach. “Wanna come,” he whines, “please, I need to come, please—“

“Then come, baby,” Cas urges. “Come on his cock.”

“ _Nngh!_ ” Dean’s desperate, squirming mindlessly, trying his best to rub his poor untouched dick against something, anything to get some friction, but he only meets empty air as he pumps his hips. “I can’t,” he moans, “I can’t, please, I need to come, jerk me off, please—“

“Yes you can,” Cas says firmly, squeezing Dean’s thigh. “You can do it. Let him fuck it out of you.”

Dean bounces and bounces, thigh muscles flexing, chest shining with sweat, beautiful mouth forming a small O as he struggles to do what’s being asked of him. His breath is coming in little punched-out gasps, jolting in time with Benny’s thrusts, and Cas’ mouth waters as he watches Dean’s asshole quiver and clench around Benny’s large girth. 

It only lasts another few seconds. Then Dean’s entire body seizes up, limbs locking, back stiffening. “Gonna come,” he cries out, “gonna come, oh _fuck—_ ”

And then he’s coming in glorious, high arcs, all over his trembling thighs and stomach, going completely silent as he gives himself over to orgasm.

“Oh that’s so _good,_ baby,” Cas croons, and because he’s feeling generous, wraps a hand around Dean’s still-pulsing cock and strokes him hard, making Dean wail at the overstimulation. “Give me more,” he coaxes. “I know you have more in there, let it all out, sweetheart. Benny’s giving you such a good hard fuck, isn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Dean whimpers, “yeah.”

“He’s fucking you so well, pushing all that nice sweet come out of you, and you’re going to give me every drop, yes you are. Give me all of it, that’s it, that’s it, such a good boy. Fuck him harder, Benny, fuck it all out of him—“

Benny’s movements are becoming more erratic, and Cas can see his balls starting to tighten. “Close,” he grunts, “close—”

“He’s going to come in your ass, Dean,” Cas purrs, stroking his own cock fast and hard. “Pump you full, get you all nice and wet—”

Dean cries out again, a broken sound, and his body undulates, rolling in time with Benny’s thrusts, an endless string of _oh oh ohs_ falling from his lips.

“Fuck,” Benny gasps suddenly, his legs starting to tremble. “Gonna come—”

Dean lets out a startled squeak, and Cas realizes that Benny must be buried so deeply in his ass that he can feel Benny’s cock twitch as he comes. It’s such a sexy thought that Cas drops a hand down to his own cock again and jerks himself shamelessly.

“Look at you,” he breathes. “You’re perfect, both of you. Such perfect boys, so good for me. You look so hot together, make me so hard.”

“More,” Dean pleads, writhing in Benny’s lap, “more. _Please_.”

Christ, he’s so beautiful when he begs. “My good boy needs more?” Cas says, ghosting along Dean’s length with the tips of his fingers. “More of this?” 

“Uh-huh,” Dean whines, chasing Cas’ touch with his entire body. “More, more, I’m gonna come again—”

“So greedy,” Cas teases, giving Dean’s cock a light slap. Dean throws his head back and wails, toes curling, fists clenched. Cas spanks his cock gently a few more times, watching it sway back and forth, enjoying the sound of Dean’s helpless whimpers, then finally wraps his hand around the shaft and strokes him firm and fast. He milks Dean until he’s squirming to get away, until he’s stopped leaking and spurting over Cas’ fist and his cock finally starts to soften. Only then does Cas release his hold and let Dean tumble backwards onto Benny’s chest.

Cas rises to his feet and resumes stroking himself, staring down at the beautiful sight of Dean and Benny tangled together on the bed. Dean’s flushed so prettily, chest heaving, jaw slack with pleasure as he gazes up at Cas. Or more accurately, Cas’ dick, which is sliding in and out of Cas’ fist, the head obscenely dark and swollen.

“I wanna help,” Dean says hoarsely, sitting up. “Please?”

Cas groans and arches his hips forward. Dean curls a hand around his length and pumps him expertly, and in no time at all, Cas tips over the edge, coming with a cry that can probably be heard across the entire state of Kansas.

“Fuck,” he gasps, hips twitching with the aftershocks. “ _Fuck_ , Dean.”

“Love your cock, Cas.” Dean licks come off his wrist. “Can’t wait to suck you next time.”

Cas bends down and kisses him. “That would make me very happy.”

“Me too,” Dean murmurs, pulling him down to the bunk, and Benny makes an ‘oof!’ sound as Cas sprawls on top of them. The bunk’s wooden legs creak ominously.

“I wanna do that about ten more times,” Dean announces.

Benny wheezes out a laugh. “Go easy on me, cher. Some of us ain’t so young anymore.”

“Aw, I bet you could get it up for me again,” Dean says, his tone flirty. He reaches for Benny’s soft cock and jiggles it a little in his palm, making Benny roll his eyes in amusement.

“Such a brat,” Cas says fondly, stroking Dean’s cheek.

“The worst,” Benny agrees, wrapping his beefy arms around Dean’s waist, hugging him close.

Dean hums contentedly. “Like I said, goddamn jackpot. Never thought I’d get to have this.”

“Neither did we,” Cas says, kissing the tip of his nose. “But good things do happen, Dean. And we deserve them.” He leans over and presses a soft kiss to Benny’s mouth. “I love you,” he says. “So much.”

“Love you too,” Benny says with a grin. “And next weekend, we’re staying in a damn motel.”

**THE END**


End file.
